“Another one?” she queried languorously.
There was a colorless indifference in the tone which was almost tragic. She said the words slowly and deliberately, as though even her mind worked that way.
From the first, I saw that Kennedy had been observing Eugenia Atherton keenly. And in the role of specialist in nervous diseases he was enabled to do what otherwise would have been difficult to accomplish.
Gradually, from observing her mental condition of indifference which made conversation extremely difficult as well as profitless, he began to consider her physical condition. I knew him well enough to gather from his manner alone as he went on that what had seemed at the start to be merely a curious case, because it concerned the Athertons, was looming up in his mind as unusual in itself, and was interesting him because it baffled him.
Craig had just discovered that her pulse was abnormally high, and that consequently she had a high temperature, and was sweating profusely.
“Would you mind turning your head, Mrs. Atherton?” he asked.
She turned slowly, half way, her eyes fixed vacantly on the floor until we could see the once striking profile.
“No, all the way around, if you please,” added Kennedy.
She offered no objection, not the slightest resistance. As she turned her head as far as she could, Kennedy quickly placed his forefinger and thumb gently on her throat, the once beautiful throat, now with skin harsh and rough. Softly he moved his fingers just a fraction of an inch over the so-called “Adam’s apple” and around it for a little distance.
“Thank you,” he said. “Now around to the other side.”