his safe and
get out the copy of his will which is there."

"His will?" repeated Roger, slightly dismayed.

"There is no reason for alarm. He appears anxious to refresh his
memory, that is all. It seems better to humour him. I fancy there is
some point he would like to discuss with you."

"Very well, I'll come in the first thing after breakfast."

In spite of himself the thought took root that the old man believed he
was going to die.

CHAPTER XIII

Having finished a late and lazy breakfast next morning, Roger ascended
to his father's room. He found the old man lying tranquil if weak, his
temperature fallen to normal with that curious abruptness
characteristic of typhoid. The nurse, very fresh in a clean apron and
cap, was putting the room to rights. She smiled at Roger, who was no
longer a stranger, for the two had had a long talk over their coffee
the evening before, and later, with Miss Clifford, had indulged in a
little mild cutthroat bridge.

"The doctor said something to me last night about your wanting the safe
opened," ventured Roger, after several minutes' conversation with the
invalid, during which no mention was made of the matter in question.

The old man's face looked blank, he appeared struggling to recall. At
last he nodded slowly.

"I believe I did speak of it, though it's not of great importance. It
occurred to me I might as well glance through the will I drew up two
years ago. I made a slight alteration in it this winter, which I want
to speak to you about, but I'll look through it first. Something
Sartorius said reminded me of it."

Roger felt relieved. There was no evidence of his father's expecting
an immediate decease; he seemed calm and fairly cheerful.

"Right you are. I'll attend to it now, if you'll tell me the
combination."

"Give me a piece of paper; I'll write it down."

Roger handed him an envelope and his fountain pen, and watched while
the ill man laboriously traced the figures of a simple combination.

"You will find the will in the top left-hand pigeon-hole," Sir Charles
instructed him, lying back once more and wearily closing his eyes.

In the dressing-room Roger discovered Esther, occupied in arranging
flowers.

"Here's what you are looking for," she told him. "It's been moved to
make room for my diet-kitchen."

She indicated a small safe almost hidden by a white-tiled refrigerator
and an enamelled stand which bore a spirit-lamp and an array of