"You told me!" Crawford choked off the shout, staring sullenly at Huerta. He spoke finally, again, controlling it with hoarse effort. "Think I don't know."
"You do know," said Huerta. "However, it is not hopeless. For most diseases, there is a cure, even for those of the mind. Doctors are only human beings. They can only cure what they have the knowledge to cure. If the men you went to were not experienced in this type of thing, it does not mean there is no hope."
"Are you suggesting—that you—"
"Why not?" shrugged Huerta. "I've had experience in such cases. Is it inconceivable to you?"
"Why?" said Crawford.
Huerta studied his cigarette. "I don't quite understand."
"I mean why should you do it," said Crawford.
"I am no altruist," said Huerta. "A doctor usually gets paid."
"You know I haven't got any money," Crawford said. Huerta did not answer, leaning against the table and studying Crawford through narrowed eyes. "You're offering me some kind of proposition?" Crawford asked him.
"You might call it that," said Huerta. "As I said before, we think your quarrel with Rockland was over more than the way he acquired Delcazar's land."