"Because, if you don't, I shall not send for another doctor. I shall
send for the police authorities."
She sank down again upon the divan. But her expression did not change.
He believed that she succeeded in making her face a mere mask while she
thought with a furious rapidity.
"You don't mean to say," she at length said, "that you think
anything--that you suppose one of the servants--Ibrahim--Hamza--? I
can't believe it! I could never believe it!"
"Do you wish me to cure your husband?"
"Of course I wish him to be cured."
"Then please go now and tell him that you have asked me to stay here for
the night. I don't want him to see me to-night. I will see him as soon
as he wakes to-morrow."
"But--he doesn't--"
"Just as you like! Either I stay here and take charge of this case, or I
go back to the boat at Edfou and to-morrow I put myself into
communication with the proper authorities."
She got up again slowly.
"Well, if you really believe you can pull Nigel round quickly!" she
said.
She moved to the door.
"I'll see what he says!" she murmured.
Then she opened the door and went out.
That night Isaacson sent Hassan back to the _Fatma_ to fetch some
necessary luggage. For Mrs. Armine succeeded in persuading her husband
to submit to a doctor's visit the next morning.
Isaacson had not been worsted. But as he went into one of the smart
little cabins to get some sleep if possible, he felt terribly, almost
unbearably, depressed.
For what was--what must be--the meaning of this victory?