THE SURGEON AND THE LAWYER
A room in a house not a hundred miles from Newcaster. In it Mr and Mrs
Vernon, looking as if they were somewhat in doubt as to what they were
doing there; their son, Jim, who was manifestly enjoying himself much
more than he had any notion of; their daughter Frances, who,
obviously, had no doubt whatever that this was an occasion on
which she was a young lady of importance. Also present, Dorothy
Gilbert--very white, very anxious, and much prettier than she
suspected. Miss Gilbert was Miss Vernon's especial and particular
charge--it was that fact which made her conscious that she was a
person of importance. She kept quite close to her, as if desirous of
giving her the comfort and assurance of her near neighbourhood;
sometimes holding her hand, sometimes with her arm about her
waist--and in that position a pleasanter picture than those two girls
presented it would not be easy to imagine. There also was the Earl of
Strathmoira, in a dark grey suit, which became him; and with that calm
air of positively graceful assurance, which became him even better.
And Mr Leonard Arnecliffe was there, offering such a complete contrast
to the handsome earl--carelessly dressed; with about him such an
appearance of having been buffeted by life's tempests; and with, on
his queer face, that humorous, tender something which made it almost
beautiful.
These are the persons of our drama, with whom we already are familiar;
but there were still two other persons in that room, whose
acquaintance we have yet to make. One was Sir Derwent Dewsnap, whose
surgical fame, one hardly need remark, was world-wide. Few men have
performed more operations than Derwent Dewsnap; few have done more
cutting and carving on the outside and inside of the human frame--and,
as a cynic once observed, he looked it. But, while his knowledge and
experience of general surgery was great, his skill in dealing with the
human cranium, and especially that part we call the brain, it has been
stated, was almost superhuman. Nowadays every great surgeon is a
specialist, and Dewsnap's speciality was brain. Not, of course, in a
mental sense; he was not a mental pathologist at all; but in
operations on the brain he was _facile princeps_.
He was shortly going to perform one of the most delicate operations on
the cranium which even he had ever undertaken; and these persons were
gathered together to receive from him an expression of opinion as to
his probabilities of success.
The other person to whom we have yet to be introduced was
Plashett--Alexander Plashett; a name which has only to be mentioned in
order to conjure up a vision of one of the greatest criminologists who
ever made a practical study of the law. What Plashett did not know
about crime and criminals was not worth knowing. He had caused so many
scoundrels to reap the just reward of their ill-doings, and so many
more to get off scot free, that it was actually whispered, where those
things are whispered, that on whichever side Plashett was the
gentlemen of the jury were. Of course that was not a whisper which was
to be taken precisely at the foot of the letter; but it undoubtedly
was a fact that counsel would rather be briefed by Plashett than
against him.
He was there in that room to represent the interests of certain
persons who might find themselves in a very uncomfortable position
indeed if there was an unfortunate termination to the operation on
which Sir Derwent was so shortly to be engaged. Thus, while no one
cared a button for the person on whom the operation was about to be
performed, everybody hoped that he would come well out of it--which
seeming paradox is explained by the fact that the person in question
was Mr George Emmett; and that if he died in Sir Derwent Dewsnap's
hands one of the individuals in that room would quite possibly be
hanged for him. Therefore, when the Earl of Strathmoira put a question
to the great surgeon his reply was anxiously awaited.
"So it seems, Sir Derwent, that, to perpetrate what sounds like a
bull, the odds are even?"
Sir Derwent was a precisian even in words, as he immediately made
plain.
"Odds, my lord, are never even; nor does a wise surgeon express a
positive opinion as to the result of even the simplest operation: so
many considerations enter into the matter of which a layman has no
idea. As regards the case of Mr Emmett, I have only to mention that
the operation which I am about to attempt has, so far as I am aware,
never hitherto been performed to show how worse than futile, and also,
how unprofessional, it would be for me to pose as a prophet."
"Hear, hear! Exactly."
This encouragement came from Mr Plashett, to whom the word
"unprofessional" apparently appealed. Thus supported, Sir Derwent went
on, with that pedagogic air for which he was renowned:
"I should not wish, on such an occasion, and before such an audience,
to enter into those details which could only be properly touched on in
an operating theatre; but I may remind you that the subject has
already been twice given over as dead, and I can assure you that that
is not so strange as to the lay mind it may seem. The conditions were
all compatible with death: the motionless pulse and heart; the absence
of any movement of the lungs, of any signs of respiration. But it so
happens that, in the course of my wide experience, once, and only
once, I encountered a similar case, and the knowledge I obtained then
I was able to apply now. It was the case of a man who, falling from a
fourth-floor window on to the pavement below, fractured the cranial
bones almost precisely as Mr Emmett's had been fractured." There were
those among his auditors who were disposed to feel that, in spite of
what he had said, he was entering into details which were a trifle too
technical. But Sir Derwent, having warmed to the subject, went
heedlessly on: "In that case also the patient was pronounced to be
dead, and he was actually placed in his coffin before it was learned
that he wasn't. To put it shortly and popularly, pressure on the
_medulla oblongata_, caused by contact of a minute fraction of bone
with one of the cranial arteries, had produced that extraordinary
simulation of death. Had that state of things been discovered in time
an operation might have been possible; but it wasn't. The coffin was
placed in the hearse, and the hearse was on the road to the cemetery,
when one of the undertaker's men, who was walking beside it, heard a
sound proceeding from within, which so startled him that the hearse
was driven straight back to the house, and the coffin opened, when it
was found that its occupant had turned right over on his side, and had
killed himself in doing so. There was no mistake about his being dead
that time; and it was only dissection which showed what the cause of
death had been, and how he might possibly have been saved. So you see
how nearly on all fours the two cases are: Emmett pronounced dead,
and, as was supposed, really killing himself by a fall off a table.
Found, after all, to be alive, I am now about to attempt the operation
which might have been attempted in what I will call Case No. 1. Under
such circumstances I can hardly be expected to offer a confident
prognostication either on its success or failure. I will, however, go
so far as to say that, if it fails, Mr Emmett will hardly be any worse
off than he is already; while, if it succeeds, he may be restored not
only to life, but to long life, and almost, in a degree, to his primal
vigour. Beyond that purposely vague statement I must beg you, my lord,
not to press me to go."
No one did press him. It was possibly felt that he had said quite
enough, without pressure; and that, if they were not heedful of their
ways, he might pile horror on to horror. The earl transferred his
attention to the lawyer.
"And if Sir Derwent meets with the success which we all anticipate,
knowing his superlative skill, how will the matter stand then, Mr
Plashett? That is, should George Emmett be restored to the health
which he doesn't deserve, what action will the police be able to take
against anyone with whom he may have had, say, a little difference of
opinion?"
"I should say none. With Emmett dead, or nearly dead, then the police,
representing the Crown, are compelled to act. But with Emmett alive
and kicking, then the onus lies with him; it is only on his initiative
that action can be taken, since it is only on his sworn statement that
it can be alleged that an offence has been committed. If a man has his
head broken, say, for argument's sake, with a bottle, he may have
reasons of his own for not wishing to say anything at all about it;
and there is no power vested in the police to make him say anything if
he doesn't want to. Emmett dead is to be feared; but alive, not at
all--that is, if I apprehend the statements which have been made to me
correctly. I know something of the gentleman, and I am quite sure--I
am not often sure of anything, but I am quite sure of what I am about
to say--I repeat that I am quite sure that he will not be disposed to
go into the witness-box and complain to a magistrate, or to a judge,
that his head was broken under the circumstances under which it was
broken; since, if he were so foolish, the verdict would undoubtedly
be--And serve you right!"