"You tell me nothing new, Miss--I mean Clarice. For ten years Horran has suffered in this way. Humph! The attacks of giddiness have not been so frequent, Wentworth tells me."
"No. Only every now and then."
"Humph! And his behaviour?"
"Well," Clarice hesitated, "he has been a trifle excited at times, and by Dr. Wentworth's advice he gave up his one glass of whisky at night."
"I see," Jerce once more scratched his chin. "Alcohol excites him."
"Anything unusual seems to excite him, doctor. Mr. Horran gets quite hysterical at times, and is always thinking of his health."
"Hypochondria!" muttered Jerce, with his eyes on the ground. "And on this particular occasion?"
"Didn't Dr. Wentworth tell you? Mr. Horran fell down in an epileptic fit and bit his tongue. We got him to bed, and sent for Dr. Wentworth, who insisted upon wiring for you."
"Quite so--quite so. Wentworth knows that I am deeply interested in this most mysterious case. What do these symptoms mean? Whence do they arise? I wish--" he cast a look on the girl, "no, I won't suggest a post-mortem again. All the same only a post-mortem can explain these things."
"Oh, doctor, do you think he will die?"