He was walking toward me with a handful of loose scribbled sheets from the linen block.
"How is she now?" I inquired anxiously, as if she had just been subjected to a dangerous operation.
"All right. Deep under. I shan't try to pull her out yet. Much better for her to come out of it naturally herself. I suggest we darken the room and leave her."
"That suits me!" I just caught from Conlon, over by the door.
"She'll be quite safe alone?"
"Absolutely. I want to read this thing to Conlon and Mrs. Arthur and Mr. Phar, before the coroner gets here. I rather think they'll find it convincing."
"Good," I responded. "But, first of all, let me read them this. I've just jotted down my analysis of the whole situation. It's a piece of cold constructive reasoning from the admitted data, and I shall be greatly surprised if it doesn't on the whole agree with what you've been able to obtain."
Doctor Askew stared at me a moment curiously. "And if it doesn't agree?" he asked.
"If it don't," exclaimed Conlon, with obvious relief, "it may help us, all the same! This thing can't be settled by that kind of stuff, doc." He gave a would-be contemptuous nod toward Doctor Askew's handful of scrawled pages. "That's no evidence—whatever it says. Where does it come from? Who's givin' it? It can't be sworn to on the Book, that's certain—eh? Let's get outa here and begin to talk sense!" Conlon opened the door eagerly, and creaked off through the hall.
"Go with him," ordered Doctor Askew. "I'll put out the lights." Then he touched my elbow and gave me a slight nod. "I see your point of course. But I hope to God you've hit somewhere near it?"