“What’s the matter, boy, fresh pain?”
“No, I was thinking what a trouble I am to you, uncle.”
“Trouble, boy? Why, it’s quite a treat,” said the doctor, laughing. “I was quite out of practice, and I’m in your debt for giving me a little work.”
“Don’t thank me, uncle,” said Vane with a smile, though it was only the shadow of his usual hearty laugh. “I wouldn’t have given you the job if I could have helped it.”
The doctor nodded, patted the boy’s shoulder and went down, for Vane in his weakness willingly settled himself off to sleep, his eyes being half-closed as the doctor shut the door.
“Well, sir,” cried Macey, eagerly, as the doctor entered the drawing-room, “he’s all right in the head again, isn’t he?”
“I don’t think there’s a doubt of it, my lad,” said the doctor. “You are going close by, will you ask the policeman to come down?”
“Yes; I’ll tell him,” cried Macey, eagerly.
“No, no, leave me to tell him. I would rather,” said the doctor, “because I must speak with some reserve. It is not nice to arrest innocent people.”
“But I may tell Mr Syme and Gilmore?”