"He's here, but I don't think you can see him now. They've gone up to speak to Mrs. Fane. Was it anything in particular?"
"I just want to thank him," Rich said simply.
He mopped his forehead.
"He did me the courtesy," Rich went on, "of sending a note round to my lodging house. We don't boast a telephone there. He said that Mrs. Fane's illness was not caused by tetanus, but by strychnine poisoning. He added-"
Rich paused. Fumbling in the breast pocket of his jacket, he drew out a folded sheet of notepaper.
" "There's something else,' " he read aloud, bunking against the sunlight. " 'I've got a bit of influence here and there, son. I'd like to reopen your other case — you — know what I mean — before the Medical Council. I think we might get you reinstated yet. Chirrup, son. You're not dead yet.' "
Abruptly Rich folded up the letter and put it back in his pocket.
'I never thought I should live to say 'thank God' again," he added, "but I do now."
Ann was standing uncomfortably, her eyes on the ground.
"I'm afraid I said some rather unpleasant things to you the other night, Dr. Rich," she told him. "But I was upset at the time. I'm sorry."