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Having piloted my eccentric upstairs and left him to his toilet, I lost no time in dressing and presenting myself at the Grand Pump Hotel, where I found my West Indian friend in a truly deplorable state of agitation. His face, ordinarily rubicund, bore traces of a sleepless night; indeed, it was plain that he had not changed his clothes since leaving the Assembly Rooms, where he invariably spent his evenings at a game of faro for modest stakes. He grasped my hand, springing up to do so from a writing-table whereon lay several sheets of foolscap paper.

“Ah! my dear friend, you are late!” was his greeting.

“I thought I had been moderately expeditious,” said I.

“Yes, yes–perhaps so.” He consulted his watch. “But with an affair of this sort hanging over one, the minutes drag. And yet, Heaven knows, mine may be few enough.”

“Pardon me,” I said, “but to what sort of affair are you alluding?”

“An affair of honour,” he answered tragically.

“Eh?” I said. “A duel! You have engaged yourself to fight a duel?” He nodded. “Then I will have nothing to do with it,” I announced with decision.

“Aye,” said he with marked irony, “it is at such a pinch that one discovers his true friends! But fortunately I had no sooner dispatched Gumbo in search of you than I foresaw some chance of this pusillanimity of which you give me proof.”

“Pusillanimity?” I interjected. “It is nothing of the kind. But you seem to forget my position here as honorary physician to the Hotwells.”

“We’ll call it lukewarmness, then,” he went on in yet more biting tones. “At the risk of seeming intrusive, I at once knocked up two Irish gentlemen on the landing above who had been audibly making a night of it while I sat here endeavouring to compose my thoughts to the calmness proper for framing a testamentary disposition. Although perfect strangers to me, they cheerfully granted what you have denied me; consented with alacrity–nay, with enthusiasm–to act as my seconds in this affair; and started to carry my cartel–which, having gone to bed in their boots, they were able to do with the smallest possible delay.”

“You have not yet told me the nature of the quarrel,” I suggested.

His face at once resumed its wonted colour–nay, took on an extra tinge inclining to purple. “And I don’t intend to!” he snapped.

“Then you no longer need my services?”

“Fortunately no, since you make such a pother of granting them. Stay–you might witness my will here, to which I am about to affix my signature.”

“With pleasure,” said I. “But who is to be the other witness? The law requires two, you know.”

“Confound it–so it does! I had forgotten. We might ring up the Boots, eh?”

“Better avoid dragging the servants of the hotel into this business, especially if you would keep your intention secret. How about Gumbo?”

“He’s black, to begin with, and moreover he benefits under the document to the extent of a small legacy.”

“That rules him out, at any rate. Ha!” I exclaimed, glancing out of window, “the very man!”

“Who?”

“An excellent fellow at this moment crossing the gardens towards the Mall–he is early this morning; a discreet, solid citizen, and able to keep his counsel as well as any man in the Hotwells; our leading jeweller, Mr. Jenkinson.”

I turned sharply, for the Major had sunk into his chair with a groan.

“Jenkinson!” he gasped. “Jenkinson! The man’s insatiable–he has been watching the hotel in his lust for blood! He threatened last night to cut my liver out and give it to the crows–my unfortunate liver on which you, doctor, have wasted so much solicitude. He used the most extraordinary language–not,” the Major added, gripping the arms of his chair and sitting erect, “not that he shall find me slow in answering his threats.”