The other sat on the edge of the bed. “Faith, how kin Oi tell ye? 'Twas a drink, sor; a new kind av a high-ball, th' trickery av a friend an' th' ould Witch av Endor put togither.”
Obviously Watson did not understand. The stranger continued: “Faith, sor, an' no more do Oi. There's no one as does, 'cept th' ould doc hisself.”
“The old doc! You mean Dr. Holcomb?”
Watson sat up in his bed. “Where is he?”
“In a safe place, me lad. Dinna fear for th' doctor. 'Twas him as saved ye—him an' your humble sarvant, Pat MacPherson, bedad.”
“He—and you—saved me?”
“Aye—there on th' Spot of Life. A bit of a thrick as th' ould doc dug oot o' his wisdom. Sure, she dinna work jist loike he said it, but 'twas a plenty t' oopset th' pretty Senestro!”
Watson asked, “What became of the Senestro?”
“Sure, they pulled him oot. Th' wee doggie jist aboot had him done for. Bedad, she's a good pup!”
“What kind of a dog?”