Gideon interposed hastily.
‘It is getting late,’ he said in his unnaturally gentle voice. ‘We must not keep Dr Abbershaw –’
‘Er – no, of course not,’ said Whitby, starting nervously.
Abbershaw took the hint.
‘It is late. I bid you good night, gentlemen,’ he murmured, and moved towards the door.
Gideon slipped in front of it, pen in hand. He was suave as ever, and smiling, but the little round eyes beneath the enormous shaggy brows were bright and dangerous.
Abbershaw realized then that he was not going to be allowed to refuse to sign the certificate. The three men in the room were determined. Any objections he might raise would be confuted by force if need be. It was virtually a signature under compulsion.
He took the pen with a little impatient click of the tongue.
‘How absurd of me, I had forgotten,’ he said, laughing as though to cover his oversight. ‘Now, let me look, where is it? Oh, I see – just here – you have attended to all these particulars, of course, Dr Whitby.’
‘Yes, yes. They’re all in order.’