“I’m afraid I can’t enlighten you as to that,” Follansbee told him. “It isn’t proper for a physician to make definite promises, and it’s very unprofessional to outline methods. I have agreed to take your case for forty-five thousand dollars, and I promise to give it my best attention and the benefit of my long knowledge. That is all anybody but a quack can say. You’ll have to take it or leave it. If you’re so thoroughly persuaded that I’m a scoundrel, you oughtn’t to hesitate.”
His smile was a maddening enigma.
Under the influence of this skillful handling, the tanned face widened into a smile, and Stone nodded his head. “All right,” he said. “I forgot about the money. Crawford has made his will in my favor, and if he dies without involving me I’ll get his share, of course.”
“That’s my understanding of the situation,” Follansbee agreed.
“That’s right—that’s right! How you got on to it, though, Heaven only knows!”
“Then you’re willing to pay me the fee I demand?”
“I suppose it’s worth it. Yes, I’ll pay it.”
“A wise decision,” murmured Follansbee.
He reached out a lean hand and swung a pad of blotting paper round, then placed a pen and inkwell beside it.