“Going on well, but he will be the better for a sedative. Feverish, of course. Have you sent that prescription?”
“Yes, it has been taken, and the chemist will be rung up to dispense it. I say, doctor; no fear of a bad ending?”
“And no thanks to the man who fired at him from behind,” said Chester, looking straight at his questioner as he spoke. “Fortunately the bullet passed diagonally by his ribs, an inch to the right—”
“Yes, yes, the old story, doctor; but I did not fire the shot.”
“Pray don’t excuse yourself, sir,” said Chester, coldly. “I am not a magistrate; only a medical man with the customary knowledge of surgery.”
“And a little more, too,” was the reply, with a smile. “There, doctor, we will not quarrel this morning, and you will not introduce the matter to the police. It will pay you better to be silent; but if you preferred to talk about it I’m afraid you would not be believed.”
The speaker smiled cynically as he saw the effect of his words, and walked away, leaving Chester thinking deeply, and, in spite of his anger and annoyance, beginning more and more to feel that he had better accept his position.
“It is a strange experience,” he said to himself, as he sank back in an easy-chair by the couch; “but a fee of two hundred guineas! Bel shall have it in the shape of a present. She will not fidget when she has had my wire.”