He called Clarke, who had been busy examining Blake, to join them by the fire. Weariness had deepened the lines on the doctor's face and there were puffy pouches under his eyes. He was obviously exhausted and scarcely able to move, but there was something malignant in his look. He ate greedily without speaking, and then glanced up at the others.
"Well," said Benson, "what's your opinion?"
"Your friend's state is dangerous, and he was right in his conclusions about what was the matter with him. How he came to suffer from a severe attack of malaria in this bracing climate I can't determine, and after all it's not an important point. He can't live much longer at his present temperature."
"And the remedy?"
"One of two is indicated, and the choice is difficult, because both are risky."
"Then they're risky to you as well as to your patient," Harding grimly reminded him.
Clarke made a contemptuous gesture which was not without a touch of dignity. His manner was now severely professional.
"One course would be to put him into the coldest water we can find; it's drastic treatment and sometimes effective, but there's a strong probability of its killing him."
"You had better mention the other."
"The administration of a remedy of my own, which I'll admit few doctors would venture to use. It's almost as dangerous as the first course, and in case of success recovery is slower."