“Do you mean that for a joke—a bit of chaff, Mr Dickenson?” said the doctor stiffly.
“A joke, sir? Is this a subject to joke about?” replied Dickenson.
“Certainly not, sir; but you thoughtless young fellows are ready to laugh at anything.”
“Well, sir, you’re wrong. Roby and I were never very great friends, but I’m not such a brute as to laugh and sneer when the poor fellow’s down.”
“Who was talking about Captain Roby?”
“You were, sir. You told me that his brain was suffering from pressure, and then you went on to say that you wanted to get at the cause of his hurt.”
“Bah! Tchah! Nonsense, man! I was talking then about Lennox.”
“I beg your pardon, sir.”
“Oh, all right, my lad. Now then; I’m talking about Lennox now. I say I want to get at the cause of his trouble without questioning him and setting his poor feverish brain working. Tell me how you found him.”
Dickenson briefly explained.