He went quickly to Gartram’s side, and drew something from his breast-pocket and held it before Claude in the light.
“Yes, I know,” she said, “the medicine bottle—the sedative draught.”
“Yes,” said Asher, quietly. “You saw that he had it in his breast.”
“It is generally in that cabinet. He keeps it there.”
“Yes,” said the doctor; “but I found it in his breast-pocket as I was trying to place him in an easier position. What can a medical man do when his patient acts in direct opposition to his wishes?”
“I don’t understand you—that is the medicine you prescribed for him.”
“Yes, my child,” said the doctor, in quick, angry tones; “but if I order a patient to take a tablespoonful of brandy, I don’t mean him to take a bottle.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Claude, the word coming from her breast like a moan.
“You see he had this to take, but he has been in the habit of carrying it in his pocket, to apply to as a drunkard does to a flask. I suspected to-night that he had taken a stronger dose than usual, or at more frequent intervals, and thought that the effect, as he was so inured to it, would pass off, but—”
“It will, doctor—oh, say it will,” whispered Claude. “Why don’t you give him something? Would wine or spirits be of any good? Ah, here is Doctor Rixton.”