“Julian, this is Doctor David Curtis,” she explained. “Doctor Curtis, my cousin, Colonel Julian Hull.”
Curtis’ long, nervous fingers closed over Colonel Hull’s flabby hand with a force which made the latter wince. Hull mumbled a greeting and continued to stare at the sightless man before him. Curtis felt the scrutiny as he wheeled his chair around so as to make one of the group.
“I am sorry,” he began apologetically. “I thought that you were aware of my presence. I have been sitting here talking to Miss Hull, and she left me for a few minutes to find Mr. Hollister. You say”—and Hull was struck by the way Curtis located without apparent hesitancy each speaker. It seemed as if his blindness had sharpened his other faculties abnormally. “You say, Colonel Hull, that you would like to remember John Meredith as you last saw him. Exactly when were you with him last?”
“What is that to you?” demanded Hull aggressively.
Curtis took time, before answering, to light the cigarette which Mrs. Meredith, an interested listener, handed to him.
“Mr. Hollister, at the request of Miss Anne Meredith, is acting as her attorney.” Curtis’ speech was deliberation itself. “And he has asked me to aid him in clearing up the mystery surrounding John Meredith’s death—”
“Therefore you try to implicate me,” broke in Hull.
“On the contrary, I asked a very simple question with a view to finding out how Meredith looked when you last saw him. If I bungled my meaning you must not take offense,” replied Curtis.
Colonel Hull covered his anger with bluff heartiness, while inwardly registering a score to settle with the surgeon at some future date.
“Certainly, I’ll answer any questions,” he exclaimed, with a broad smile. “But you must admit your meaning was a bit obscure—and from a total stranger; well, we’ll let it go, eh, Belle?” with a sidelong look at Mrs. Meredith. “What is it you wish to know?”