“Asher?”
“Yes; our doctor. You must know him. Pleasant, smooth-spoken fellow in black.”
“Oh, yes; of course.”
“Worried me a deal, that did.”
“And you suffer from insomnia?”
“Horribly. Keep something to exorcise the demon, though,” he said laughingly, taking a small bottle from his pocket. “Chloral.”
“Dangerous stuff, sir. Take it cautiously.”
“I take it as my medical man advises.”
“That is right. Of course I remember Doctor Asher, and that other young friend of yours—the naturalist and salmon fisherman, and—”
“Oh, Lisle. Yes; sort of ward of mine. I am his trustee.”