§ 1
Mrs. Croome was heard in the passage, someone was admitted, there were voices, and the handle of the parlour door was turned. “’Asn’t E come, then?” they heard the voice of Mrs. Croome through the opening. Dr. Elihu Barrack appeared in the doorway.
He was a round-headed young man with a clean-shaven face, a mouth that was determinedly determined and slightly oblique, a short nose, and a general expression of resolution; the fact that he had an artificial leg was scarcely perceptible in his bearing. He considered the four men before him for a moment, and then addressed himself to Mr. Huss in a tone of brisk authority. “You ought to be in bed,” he said.
“I had this rather important discussion,” said Mr. Huss, with a gesture portending introductions.
“But sitting up will fatigue you,” the doctor insisted, sticking to his patient.
“It won’t distress me so much as leaving these things unsaid would have done.”
“Opinions may differ upon that,” said Mr. Farr darkly.
“We are still far from any settlement of our difficulties,” said Sir Eliphaz to the universe.
“I have indicated my view at any rate,” said Mr. Huss. “I suppose now Sir Alpheus is here—”
“He isn’t here,” said Dr. Barrack neatly. “He telegraphs to say that he is held up, and will come by the next train. So you get a reprieve, Mr. Huss.”