The gentleman again seemed to hesitate.
“He was,” he said, “—yes, I may call him a patient of yours, inasmuch as you attended him during the course of a distemper or aberration with which he was seized. He considered that he owed you a return for his somewhat cavalier exploitation of your services, and, at the last, these were the only means he could devise for giving some effect to—well, shall we call it his remorse? The sentiment, combined with the fact that his demise, or his assumed demise, occurred in this neighbourhood, decided our choice.”
The young surgeon, forcing all his wits to a focus, fixed his eyes searchingly on the speaker.
“He was murdered,” he said. “Is that it?”
The other shrugged his shoulders, with a scarce perceptible smile.
“O, sir,” he said, “if you take that view! But a moment’s examination will convince you.”
“Let me make it, then.”
The stranger interposed his body, quietly but resolutely.
“After we are gone.”
“Why will you not give me your names?”