CHAPTER VI.

_NATHANAEL PLUNKETT._

"MR. DETROIT! Yes, sir—certainly, sir. He is seeing friends, though not able to leave his room. Pray step in, sir."

Harvey stood at the front door of Mr. Detroit's house. The servant who opened the door to him was young and sharp-eyed, manifestly a new importation. Was this Sparks' successor? Sparks had not been wont commonly to answer the door-bell.

"Will you please, sir, to wait your turn in the dining-room?"

The man moved in that direction.

"Wait my turn! What for? Stop!" Harvey said. "I don't understand."

For a moment he wondered whether he could have come absently to the wrong house-to a dentist's, for example—but the surroundings were too familiar.

The man gave him a keen glance.

"Then you're not another of Mr. Detroit's relations, sir?"

Harvey saw through the tangle at once.

"No relation at all, but an old friend. You were not here when I called last?"

"No, sir; there's been a lot of changes, and there's like to be a lot more. Everybody's new except the housekeeper, and she's only staying on because she can't be got to go. I've been three weeks, and I'm going at the month's end. And the butler's new too, and 'he's' going. I'm just answering of the door for him now while he's out."

Harvey stood considering. He could not quite read the man's expression.

"Mr. Detroit has had callers lately, you say—relatives."

"Cousins and nevvys by the dozen, sir. Never knew an old gentleman who'd got such a lot of kind relations, all a-wanting to ask about his health. And he won't have one refused. He sees 'em all in turn, up in his room. The housekeeper says it's killing of him, but he won't stop. I thought at first you was maybe another nevvy, sir."

The man's tone, though not rude, was free.

"You were mistaken," Harvey answered gravely, and he subsided.

"Anyways, I've got to obey orders," he said, with more meekness. "Would you please to wait here?" and he opened the dining-room door.

Harvey had not made up his mind what to do. He stepped forward, and took a good look round.

Several individuals were present; some belonging apparently to the "shabby-genteel" class, the shabbiness predominating over the gentility; some more flashy in appearance. One gentleman in checked trousers sat upon the table, taking pains to display a diamond ring upon the little finger of his left hand. Others lounged about in easy chairs or on couches. Wine and spirits stood on a side table, and half-emptied cups of tea were about. A certain amount of talking and laughing went on. Harvey knew instantly that a good many of these gentry were not strangers to one another. His first thought was, "Is this an organised conspiracy?" his second, "Have I misjudged that man's look?"

Then his resolution was taken.

"Ah! I am afraid I cannot wait so long to-day," he said aloud quietly, and drawing back, he shut the door.

"Now," he said, in a low voice, "I am a busy man, with no time to waste, and I wish for a few words with Mr. Detroit. Is he alone?"

"Bless you! No, air. There's a pack of 'em with him now—always is."

"That can't be helped. If you will manage to take me upstairs at once, I will make it worth your while."

The man rubbed his cheek dubiously. "Well, sir, it's against orders, and strict orders too, for Mr. Detroit is a very particular sort of a gentleman, and no mistake. But I don't know as it matters to me if he is put out. I'm leaving in a week."

"He will not be 'put out.' I am an old friend of Mr. Detroit's."

"I shouldn't wonder if he'd ought to see you," the man said. "There's something that isn't as it should be; and the old gentleman's in a state to be easy imposed on. That's what I say. If he's got any friends, they 'd ought to see him—if 't isn't too late, that's to say. For he's been and gone and done it now—signed the new will this very morning. And I suppose his cousins and nevvys is all come to thank him, and to make sure as nobody meddles."

"No doubt they will be the gainers by this new will."

"No doubt, sir. And if they 'was' his near relations—if so, be that's all true—why there's nothink to be said agin it."

"Certainly not. Thanks for your information."

Harvey had an impression that the man was straightforward, though by no means averse to making capital out of the said information.

"You're welcome, sir. Fact is, I don't like to see a poor old gentleman put upon, and nobody to help him through. No, I don't like it, and that's a fact. They do say as his last will was a queer 'un, but I shouldn't wonder if this was a queerer."

"Will you tell someone to answer the door in your absence. I should rather wish you to be present as a witness during the interview. What is your name?—ah, Blake. I think I may trust you, Blake. You mean well by my old friend."

His penetrating glance was met frankly. "I hope as I do, sir," Blake answered. "Yes, I'll give orders, and I'll stay. One moment, please." He was speedily back, adding, "This way."

Harvey followed him up the broad staircase to the first floor. "A set of harpies!" he muttered. "Nephews and cousins, indeed."

Mr. Detroit lay once more on the couch, in the guise of a complete invalid. He was much changed, his features having a sunken and dark look; and his voice was weak and piping, as if all strength were gone.

The housekeeper stood in the background, with a face of grim disapproval; while three individuals—gentlemen in dress and by courtesy—were grouped around the couch. One stood upright; one leant on the footboard of the big bedstead; one sat in a dégagé attitude astride a chair, facing its back, as he joked his invalid "uncle."

Harvey bowed slightly. He knew these people by sight, and was acquainted with their character. Covert glances exchanged among the three showed that they also know him.

The alteration in the old man really grieved Harvey. The hand of coming Death had already drawn legible strokes on that poor withered face. But Mr. Detroit did not seem to be depressed. He was laughing when Harvey approached—a weak continuous laugh.

"How do you do?" Harvey said kindly. "Not so well lately, I am afraid."

Mr. Detroit showed no surprise at his unexpected visitor. He glanced vaguely once or twice in his direction, then beckoned him nearer.

"I say,—" he beckoned again, till Harvey bent over the couch; "I say," and the old face assumed a childish cunning, while he spoke in a mysterious undertone; "I say, I've seen Nathanael Plunkett."

"Indeed!" Harvey answered.

"Yes, I've seen Nathanael Plunkett. Came yesterday."

A silence had fallen on the others. Harvey held the old man's attention.

"You saw him—how?"

"I say," beckoning again and laughing feebly, "I saw Nathanael Plunkett yesterday. You know! Plunkett himself. He came in and stood just there—where you are. I've seen him!" Mr. Detroit nodded two or three times in confirmation of his own words.

Harvey stood up and glanced round significantly.

"Gentlemen, you will please to note this. You may not be aware that Mr. Plunkett died nearly seven years ago, and that our friend Mr. Detroit witnessed his death by drowning. Mr. Detroit now declares positively that he saw yesterday, in this room, a man whom he knows to have been seven years dead."

The faces grew longer, and there was no response.

Mr. Detroit, after muttering again, "Nathanael Plunkett—yes, I saw him—came in here," turned aside and seemed disinclined for further talk.

Harvey took his leave, not forgetting to reward Blake as he went.