"Why does he say he's going there?"
"Says he hates the conventional Christmas, and wants to be out of it; says also that he wants to shoot duck."
"That won't do," said the doctor. "He may hate the conventional Christmas. He may, and he probably will, shoot duck. But that's not his reason for going there."
"Then what is it?" asked the boy.
"Nothing that would interest you much, Bill. Vyse is one of the chaps that want to know too much. He's playing about in a way that every medical man knows to be a rotten, dangerous way. Mind, he may get at something; if the stories are true he has already got at a good deal. I believe it is possible for a man to develop in himself certain powers at a certain price."
"What's the price?"
"Insanity, as often as not. Here, let's talk about something pleasanter. Where are you yourself going this Christmas, by the way?"
"My sister has taken compassion upon this lone bachelor. And you?"
"I shall be out of England," said the doctor. "Cairo, probably."
The two men passed out into the hall of the club.