“What steps have been taken?” Brandon began as soon as they were free of the nurse’s presence.
“Steps?” Joliffe fenced a little.
“In regard to John Smith.” There was a sudden excitement in the bright eyes. “He’s in my mind night and day. I can’t bear the thought that he should be destroyed.”
“I’m sorry to say that Birdwood Thompson can’t come here.” The professional voice was dulcet and disarming. “He’s in a very bad state of health and giving up practice. His second boy went down on the Victorious, and his eldest was killed the other day in France, so I suppose that may have something to do with it.”
“Well, what is being done?”
“As you ask the question,” was the cautious reply, “we have agreed upon Murfin. Personally, I don’t think he’s as good as Moriarty or the other man, but we wrote to him in order to save trouble.”
“In order to save trouble!” Brandon gasped. “Save trouble in a matter of this kind?”
“Certainly. And we are all of us very anxious that you should not worry over it any more.”
“But—don’t you see—what a terrible thing it is?”
“Not exactly terrible.” Dr. Joliffe spoke gravely but cheerfully. “Quite an everyday occurrence, you know, if one looks at it in the right way.”