“Good God!” he cried suddenly. “I can’t stand this! I—”
Lexy came nearer to him.
“Don’t stand it!” she whispered. “Take her away! Can’t you _see_? Take
her away!”
“How can I? Her husband—she doesn’t want to go.”
“Make her! Oh, can’t you see? He’s giving her some horrible drug!”
“You mustn’t be alarmed,” said Dr. Quelton’s voice from the hall. They
both looked at him with a guilty start, but his blank eyes were
staring past them, at nothing. “It is unfortunate,” he said. “The
little excitement of this visit—”
He walked past them into the room and over to the table, where his
pipe lay among the chessmen. He lit it deliberately and stood smoking
it, with one arm resting on the mantelpiece.
“In her present highly nervous condition,” he went on, “the little
excitement of this visit has proved too much for her. I shall drive
over to the hospital and fetch a nurse—”
“A nurse!” cried the young man. “Then she’s—”
“There is absolutely no occasion for alarm, as I told you before. A
few days’ rest and quiet—”
“Look here, sir!” said Captain Grey. “It seems to me—I’ve no wish to
be offensive, or anything of that sort, but it seems right to me”—he
paused for a moment—“to get a second opinion.”
“I shouldn’t advise it,” replied the doctor blandly.
“Possibly not, sir; but perhaps you would be willing to oblige me to
that extent. I don’t want to insist—”
“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”
There was a faint flush on the young man’s dark face.
“Nevertheless—” he began, but again the doctor interrupted him.
“My dear young man,” he said, “you oblige me to be frank. I should
have preferred a discreet silence; but as you are obviously determined
to make the matter as difficult as possible, you must hear the truth.
For some years your sister has been addicted to the use of certain
drugs. When I discovered this, I set about trying to cure the
addiction. You probably have no idea what that means. I venture to say
that there is nothing—absolutely nothing—more difficult in the entire
field of medicine. I have been working on the case for more than a
year, and I have made distinct progress; but it will be some time
before the cure is completed, and I can assure you that it never will
be unless I am left undisturbed. There is no other man now living who
can do what I am doing.”
He spoke gravely and coldly, and his blank eyes were fixed upon
Captain Grey with a sort of sternness; but Lexy had a curious
impression—more than an impression, a certainty—that within himself
Dr. Quelton was laughing.
“If you care to take another doctor into your confidence,” he went on,
“I can scarcely refuse permission; but you will regret it.”
The young man said nothing. He turned away and stood by the open
window, looking out into the dark garden. Lexy waited for a moment.
Then, with a subdued “Good night,” she went out of the room, up the
stairs, and into her own room.
“It’s a lie!” she said to herself.