“What is it, sir?” I said.
“Oh, wait a minute and I’ll tell you,” said the doctor in his grimmest way. “It was only this. You see I’m a very busy man, twice as busy as I used to be since your father has taken to consulting me. What I want you to do is this—”
He stopped short and stared at me till I grew uncomfortable.
“This, my lad,” he continued. “To save time, I want you to tell me when you are going to try next to kill my boy.”
“To kill Bob, sir?”
“Yes, I want to be ready, as I’ve so little time to spare. I want to order mourning from Exeter, and to give orders for the funeral.”
“I—I don’t understand you, sir,” I stammered.
“Not understand me, my lad! Why, I spoke plainly enough. You’ve tried to kill my Bob twice; third time never fails.”
“Doctor Chowne!” I exclaimed.