“Champcey might be questioned; perhaps he could furnish some information.”
But the doctor rose, and stopped him with an air of fury,—
“Question my patient! Kill him, you mean! No! If I am to have the wonderful good luck to pull him through, no one shall come near his bed for a month. And, moreover, it will be very fortunate indeed if in a month he is sufficiently recovered to keep up a conversation.”
He shook his head, and went on, after a moment’s silence,—
“Besides, it is a question whether Champcey would be disposed to say what he knows, or what he suspects. That is very doubtful. Twice he has been almost killed. Has he ever said a word about it? He probably has the same reasons for keeping silence now that he had then.”
Then, without noticing the officer’s objections, he added,—
“At all events, I will think it over, and go and see the judges as soon as they are out of bed. But I must ask you, lieutenant, to keep my secret till further order. Will you promise?”
“On my word, doctor.”
“Then you may rest assured our poor friend shall be avenged. And now, as I have barely two hours to rest, please excuse me.”