"I'm sorry, doctor, but I can't spend my time in bed now," Bristow said as persuasively as he could.
"I'd like to know why! Why? Why?"
"I'm going to Washington tomorrow, although that's a secret. I merely confide it to you in a professional way, and——"
"Going to Washington! Man, you're mad—mad! You'll have a hemorrhage or something, and die—die, I tell you!"
"Nevertheless," Bristow insisted, "I must go."
"About this murder?"
"Yes."
"Very well!" snorted Mowbray, rising like a jumping-jack. "Go—go to the North Pole if you wish. I'm through! I can't treat a man who defies my orders and advice. Good morning, sir."
Bristow gave him no answer, and he ran down the steps and threw himself into his car.
"Mistuh Bristow, Lucy's done come," said Mattie, at the living room door.