“A doctor’s?—yes,” groaned Huish. “Quick!—to Dr Stonor’s, Highgate.”
“Highgate, sir? Hadn’t you better go to one close by?”
“Quick, man!—to Highgate,” cried Huish. “Here.”
He thrust a sovereign into the man’s hand, and ran down the steps to the cab.
“Right, sir,” cried the cabman, running after him and climbing to his perch. “Lor’!” he muttered as he started the horse, “how willing a suv. do make a man, toe be sure!”
It seemed an age before the cab had climbed the long hill, and all the time John Huish sat back hat-less, and holding his head with both his hands, for it throbbed as though it would burst. Two or three times over he thrust up the trap to urge the man to hasten; but during the latter part of the journey he sat back, fighting hard to restrain himself, for he felt that if he moved or spoke more he would begin to shriek and utter wild drivel. He was going mad—he was sure of it—and his mind would no longer bear the horrible strain of the bewildering thought. There was something wrong, and he could not master it. One sole thought now filled his mind, but in a hazy, strange way, and that was that he, in some other state, had fetched away his wife and destroyed her.
At last, just as they neared the top of the hill, he became aware for the first time that the cabman was watching him, and he started angrily as the trap was shut down.
“Poor gent! he have got it hot,” muttered the cabman; and he gave his horse a touch with the whip, which made the weary beast exert itself a little more, and a few minutes later they were at the doctor’s iron gates.
“Shall I wait, sir?” said the man.
Huish shook his head and jumped out, to ring furiously at the bell.