"A royal duke?"
"No. _You_!"
"A practical joke," said Logan. "Somebody pulling your leg, as people say, a most idiotic way of speaking. What sort of client was he, or she?
We"ll be even with them."
"The client"s card is here," said Merton, and he handed to Logan that of the Marquis of Restalrig.
"You never saw him before; are you sure it was the man?" asked Logan, staggered in his scepticism.
"A very good imitation. Dressed like a farmer at a funeral. Talked like all the kailyards. Snuffed, and asked for brandy, and went and came, walking, in this weather."
"By Jove, it is my venerated cousin. And he had heard about me and Miss ---"
"He was quite well informed."
Logan looked very grave. He rose and stared out of the window into the mist. Then he came back, and stood beside Merton"s chair. He spoke in a low voice:
"This can only mean one thing."
"Only that one thing," said Merton, dropping his own voice.
"What did you say to him?"
"I told him that his best plan, as the head of the house, was to approach you himself."
"And he said?"
"That it was of no use, and that I do not know the Logans."
"But you do?"
"I think so."
"You think right. No, not for all his lands and mines I won"t."
"Not for the name?"
"Not for the kingdoms of the earth," said Logan.
"It is a great refusal."
"I have really no temptation to accept," said Logan. "I am not built that way. So what next? If the old boy could only see her--"
"I doubt if that would do any good, though, of course, if I were you I should think so. He goes north to-night. You can"t take the lady to Kirkburn. And you can"t write to him."
"Of course not," said Logan; "of course it would be all up if he knew that I know."
"There is this to be said--it is not a very pleasant view to take--he can"t live long. He came to see some London specialist--it is his heart, I think--"
"_His_ heart!
How Fortune aristophanises And how severe the fun of Fate!"
quoted Logan.
"The odd thing is," said Merton, "that I do believe he has a heart. I rather like him. At all events, I think, from what I saw, that a sudden start might set him off at any moment, or an unusual exertion. And he may go off before I tell him that I can do nothing with you--"
"Oh, hang that," said Logan, "you make me feel like a beastly a.s.sa.s.sin!"
"I only want you to understand how the land lies." Merton dropped his voice again, "He has made a will leaving you everything."
"Poor old c.o.c.k! Look here, I believe I had better write, and say that I"m awfully touched and obliged, but that I can"t come into his views, or break my word, and then, you know, he can just make another will. It would be a swindle to let him die, and come into his property, and then go dead against his wishes."
"But it would be all right to give me away, I suppose, and let him understand that I had violated professional confidence?"
"Only with a member of the firm. That is no violation."
"But then I should have told him that you _were_ a member of the firm."
"I"m afraid you should."
"Logan, you have the ideas of a schoolboy. I _had_ to be certain as to how you would take it, though, of course, I had a very good guess. And as to what you say about the chances of his dying and leaving everything where he would not have left it if he had been sure you would act against his wishes--I believe you are wrong. What he really cares about is "the name." His ghost will put up with your disobedience if the name keeps its old place. Do you see?"
"Perhaps you are right," said Logan.
"Anyhow, there is no such pressing hurry. One _may_ bring him round with time. A curious old survival! I did not understand all that he said.
There was something about having been thrice at kirk and market since he made his will; and something about not having smelled appleringie for forty years. What is appleringie?"
Logan laughed.
"It is a sacred Presbyterian herb. The people keep it in their Bibles and it perfumes the churches. But look here--"
He was interrupted by the entrance of a page, who handed to him a letter.
Logan read it and laughed. "I knew it; they are sharp!" he said, and handed the letter to Merton. It was from a famous, or infamous, money- lender, offering princely accommodation on terms which Mr. Logan would find easy and reasonable.
"They have nosed the appleringie, you see," he said.
"But I don"t see," said Merton.
"Why the hounds have heard that the old n.o.bleman has been thrice to kirk lately. And as he had not been there for forty years, they have guessed that he has been making his will. Scots law has, or used to have, something in it about going thrice to kirk and market after making a will--disponing they call it--as a proof of bodily and mental soundness.
So they have spotted the marquis"s pious motives for kirk-going, and guessed that I am his heir. I say--" Logan began to laugh wildly.
"What do you say?" asked Merton, but Logan went on hooting.
"I say," he repeated, "it must never be known that the old lord came to consult us," and here he was again convulsed.
"Of course not," said Merton. "But where is the joke?"