“Nonsense,” the other replied with uneasy impatience.
“Then why are you all of a tremble? Why is your hand shaking? Why is your pulse jumping?”
“I had a slight dizziness,” Bransby admitted wearily.
“What caused it?” Latham asked sharply.
“Grant brought me some bad news from the office.”
“Well—what of it? The air is full of bad news now. You can afford to lose an odd million now and then. But what business had Grant here? What business had you to see him? You promised me that you would not even think of business, much less discuss it with any one, until I gave you leave.”
“This was exceptional.”
The physician sat down, his eyes still on his patient, and said, his voice changed to a sudden deep kindness, “Bransby, I am going to be frank with you—brutally frank. You’re an ill man—a very ill man indeed. A severe attack of this—‘dizziness’ as you call it—will—well, it might prove fatal. Your heart’s beat shown by the last photograph we had taken by the electric cardigraph was bad—very bad.”
“I’ve heard all this before.”
“And have paid no heed to it. Bransby, unless you give me your word to obey my instructions absolutely, I will wash my hands of your case.”