Seated in a low chair in the window, Mary was hemming dusters. She looked up at him thoughtfully.
"Father," she said, "what do you think was the matter with him in the first place? What was the disease that Professor Fish cured?"
Dr. Pond shook his white head vaguely.
"Impossible to say," he answered. "It looks like, a mental case, doesn't it? And yet——You see, Fish has had so many specialities. He was in practice in Harley Street as a nerve man. Then, next thing, one hears of him in heart surgery. He's had a go at electricity lately. And between you and me—he's a great man, of course—but if it wasn't for his position and all that, we'd be calling him a quack."
"Then you can't tell what the disease was?" persisted Mary.
"No," said Dr. Pond. "Nor even if there was a disease. For all I know, Fish may have been vivisecting him. He wouldn't stop at a thing like that, if I know anything about him."
"He ought to have told us," said Mary.
"Yes," agreed the Doctor. "But Fish always does as he likes. How long has Smith been out now, Mary?"
"He went out at three," she answered. "And now it's half-past five. He ought to be in. I think I'll put my hat on, father, and go after him."
Dr. Pond nodded. "I would," he said.