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"It's utter smash and ruin," he groaned. "And all my accursed folly. I
thought I was going to make a fortune. But I'm done for now." Latimer is
usually a pink, prosperous-looking man. Now he was white and flabby,
a piteous spectacle. "You are executor under my will," he continued.
"Heaven knows I've nothing to leave. But you'll see things straight for
me, if anything happens? You will look after Lucy and the kids, won't
you?"
I was on the point of undertaking to do so, in the event of the
continuance of his craving for prussic acid, when I reflected upon my
own approaching bow and farewell to the world where Lucy and the kids
would still be wandering. I am always being brought up against this
final fireproof curtain. Suddenly a thought came which caused me to
exult exceedingly.
"Ten thousand pounds, my dear Latimer," said I, "would save you from
being hammered on the Stock Exchange and from seeking a suicide's grave.
It would also enable you to maintain Lucy and the kids in your luxurious
house at Hampstead, and to take them as usual to Dieppe next summer.


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