“Bother!” he spoke. “Bother! A message. Nothing in the world would stop me! I cannot leave.”
Nevertheless he stepped back into the light.
“Just a minute, gentlemen.”
He tore open the envelope. Then he looked up at the messenger and then at us. His face was startled—almost frightened.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I am sorry. Not a thing in the world would detain me but this. I would go with you, but I may not. My duty as a physician. I had hopes.” He came over to me and spoke softly. “I am going to send you one of the greatest specialists in the city in my stead. This young man should have attention. Have you the address?”
“288 Chatterton Place,” I answered.
“Very well. I am sorry, very much disappointed. However, it is my daughter, and I cannot do otherwise. Continue the brandy for a while—and this.” He slipped an envelope into my hand. “By that time Dr. Higgins will be with you.”
“You think there is hope?” I asked.
“There's always hope,” replied the doctor.
I returned to my companions. They were walking slowly. It was work for poor Watson. He dragged on, leaning on Hobart's arm. But at last he gave up.