(1911)
'A throbbing vein,' said Dr. Gilbert soothingly, 'is the mother of
delusion.'
'Then how do you account for my knowing when the thing is due?' Conroy's
voice rose almost to a break.
'Of course, but you should have consulted a doctor before
using--palliatives.'
'It was driving me mad. And now I can't give them up.'
''Not so bad as that! One doesn't form fatal habits at twenty-five.
Think again. Were you ever frightened as a child?'
'I don't remember. It began when I was a boy.'
'With or without the spasm? By the way, do you mind describing the spasm
again?'
'Well,' said Conroy, twisting in the chair, 'I'm no musician, but
suppose you were a violin-string--vibrating--and some one put his finger
on you? As if a finger were put on the naked soul! Awful!'
'So's indigestion--so's nightmare--while it lasts.'
'But the horror afterwards knocks me out for days. And the waiting for
it ... and then this drug habit! It can't go on!' He shook as he spoke,
and the chair creaked.
'My dear fellow,' said the doctor, 'when you're older you'll know what
burdens the best of us carry. A fox to every Spartan.'
'That doesn't help _me_. I can't! I can't!' cried Conroy, and burst into
tears.
'Don't apologise,' said Gilbert, when the paroxysm ended. 'I'm used to
people coming a little--unstuck in this room.'
'It's those tabloids!' Conroy stamped his foot feebly as he blew his
nose. 'They've knocked me out. I used to be fit once. Oh, I've tried
exercise and everything. But--if one sits down for a minute when it's
due--even at four in the morning--it runs up behind one.'
'Ye-es. Many things come in the quiet of the morning. You always know
when the visitation is due?'
'What would I give not to be sure!' he sobbed.
'We'll put that aside for the moment. I'm thinking of a case where what
we'll call anæmia of the brain was masked (I don't say cured) by
vibration. He couldn't sleep, or thought he couldn't, but a steamer
voyage and the thump of the screw--'
'A steamer? After what I've told you!' Conroy almost shrieked. 'I'd
sooner ...'
'Of course _not_ a steamer in your case, but a long railway journey the
next time you think it will trouble you. It sounds absurd, but--'
'I'd try anything. I nearly have,' Conroy sighed.
'Nonsense! I've given you a tonic that will clear _that_ notion from
your head. Give the train a chance, and don't begin the journey by
bucking yourself up with tabloids. Take them along, but hold them in
reserve--in reserve.'
'D'you think I've self-control enough, after what you've heard?' said
Conroy.
Dr. Gilbert smiled. 'Yes. After what I've seen,' he glanced round the
room, 'I have no hesitation in saying you have quite as much
self-control as many other people. I'll write you later about your
journey. Meantime, the tonic,' and he gave some general directions
before Conroy left.
An hour later Dr. Gilbert hurried to the links, where the others of his
regular week-end game awaited him. It was a rigid round, played as usual
at the trot, for the tension of the week lay as heavy on the two King's
Counsels and Sir John Chartres as on Gilbert. The lawyers were old
enemies of the Admiralty Court, and Sir John of the frosty eyebrows and
Abernethy manner was bracketed with, but before, Rutherford Gilbert
among nerve-specialists.
At the Club-house afterwards the lawyers renewed their squabble over a
tangled collision case, and the doctors as naturally compared
professional matters.
'Lies--all lies,' said Sir John, when Gilbert had told him Conroy's
trouble. '_Post hoc, propter hoc_. The man or woman who drugs is _ipso
facto_ a liar. You've no imagination.'
''Pity you haven't a little--occasionally.'
'I have believed a certain type of patient in my time. It's always the
same. For reasons not given in the consulting-room they take to the
drug. Certain symptoms follow. They will swear to you, and believe it,
that they took the drug to mask the symptoms. What does your man use?
Najdolene? I thought so. I had practically the duplicate of your case
last Thursday. Same old Najdolene--same old lie.'
'Tell me the symptoms, and I'll draw my own inferences, Johnnie.'
'Symptoms! The girl was rank poisoned with Najdolene. Ramping, stamping
possession. Gad, I thought she'd have the chandelier down.'
'Mine came unstuck too, and he has the physique of a bull,' said
Gilbert. 'What delusions had yours?'
'Faces--faces with mildew on them. In any other walk of life we'd call
it the Horrors. She told me, of course, she took the drugs to mask the
faces. _Post hoc, propter hoc_ again. All liars!'
'What's that?' said the senior K.C. quickly. 'Sounds professional.'
'Go away! Not for you, Sandy.' Sir John turned a shoulder against him
and walked with Gilbert in the chill evening.
To Conroy in his chambers came, one week later, this letter:
DEAR MR. CONROY--If your plan of a night's trip on the 17th
still holds good, and you have no particular destination in
view, you could do me a kindness. A Miss Henschil, in whom I
am interested, goes down to the West by the 10.8 from
Waterloo (Number 3 platform) on that night. She is not
exactly an invalid, but, like so many of us, a little shaken
in her nerves. Her maid, of course, accompanies her, but if I
knew you were in the same train it would be an additional
source of strength. Will you please write and let me know
whether the 10.8 from Waterloo, Number 3 platform, on the
17th, suits you, and I will meet you there? Don't forget my
caution, and keep up the tonic.--Yours sincerely,