“Yes,” said a tired, business-like voice at length.
“Doctor Adamson?”
“Yes.”
“Could you come to seventy-three Franklin Street?”
“What appears wrong?” he asked pleasantly.
“Mr. Stalton has a severe pain in his stomach.”
“Oh, that’s unfortunate,” he replied. “It might be a surgical case, you know. Anyway I never go out at night, except under very exceptional circumstances. I think you had better call my assistant, Dr. Turner.”
“Well, listen, doctor,” persisted Mauney, “Mr. Stalton is a fine chap and he thinks the sun rises and sets on you.”
The physician laughed.
“Indeed? Well, that’s very nice of him,” he said. “Tell him I’ll break a custom. Seventy-three Franklin? I’ll be up soon.”