"It seems we have changed places," said I feebly, "and that you are my physician."
He set the glass down. "Doctor, I did you less than justice just now," he said quickly. "But I have had my troubles."
I picked myself up slowly. "I will now resume," I said, smiling.
"If you are able," he said doubtfully, and then, "Heavens, I should like just one hour of sleep."
"You shall sleep till eight bells, I promise you," I answered, and once more I took the syringe.
He sighed as if in anticipation. "Doctor," he said, as he lay back. "Not a word of this. We must talk about the other thing. I don't like my officers. I'll tackle this question to-morrow. There's something in it."
I bade him "good night," and left with the conviction that in the difficulties before us Captain Day would count for little. To face such emergencies as I felt must now be faced we had no need of a neurotic subject.
Nevertheless I was mistaken in one particular. Day sent for me next morning, and I found him in quite a brisk, cheerful state. He did not allude to what had occurred between us, but came straight to the subject of the plot.
"Nothing has happened, doctor," he said.
I knew nothing could happen, for the disappearance of Adams meant that the conspirators were not ready with their plans. Otherwise they would not have been so determined to rob me of my evidence. This I explained, and he listened attentively.