From Covent Garden the hansom bowled swiftly to Burlington Row. Here Valentine found Mr. Burkham, pale and anxious, waiting in a little den of a third room, on the ground-floor—a ghastly little room, hung with anatomical plates, and with some wax preparations in jars, on the mantelpiece, by way of ornament. To them presently came Dr. Jedd, as lively and business-like as if Miss Halliday's case had been a question of taking out a double-tooth.
"Very sad!" he said; "these vegetable poisons—hands of unscrupulous man. Very interesting article in the Medical Quarterly—speculative analysis of the science of toxicology as known to the ancients."
"You will come down to Harold's Hill at once, sir?" said Valentine, imploringly.
"Well, yes; your friend here, Mr. Burkham, has persuaded me to do so, though I need hardly tell you that such a journey will be to the last degree inconvenient."
"It is an affair of life and death," faltered the young man.
"Of course, my dear sir. But then, you see, I have half-a-dozen other affairs of life and death on my hands at this moment. However, I have promised. My consultations will be over in half an hour; I have a round of visits after that, and by—well, say by the five o'clock express, I will go to St. Leonards."
"The delay will be very long," said Valentine.
"It cannot be done sooner. I ought to go down to Hertfordshire this evening—most interesting case—carbuncle—three operations in three consecutive weeks—Swain as operator. At five o'clock I shall be at the London Bridge station. Until then, gentlemen, good day. Lawson, the door."
Dr. Jedd left his visitors to follow the respectable white-cravatted butler, and darted back to his consulting-room.
Mr. Burkham and Valentine walked slowly up and down Burlington Row before the latter returned to his cab.