“Why?”
“Money.”
“Ah, that’s just it,” said Thénard. “A patient of mine, Captain Berselius, is starting on a big-game shooting expedition to the Congo. He requires a medical man to accompany him, and the salary is two thousand francs a month and all things found——”
Adams’s eyes lit up.
“Two thousand a month!”
“Yes; he is a very rich man. His wife is a patient of mine. When I was visiting her yesterday the Captain put the thing before me—in fact, gave me carte blanche to choose for him. He requires the services of a medical man—an Englishman if possible——”
“But I’m an American,” said Adams.
“It is the same thing,” replied Thénard, with a little laugh. “You are all big and strong and fond of guns and danger.”
He had taken Adams by the arm and was leading him down the passage toward the entrance hall of the hospital.
“The primitive man is strong in you all, and that is why you are so vital and important, you Anglo-Saxons, Anglo-Celts, and Anglo-Teutons. Come in here.”