It is true that I had no special qualifications for investigating an obscure case of this kind, but yet I was better equipped than most young medical men. For my hospital, St. Margaret’s, though its medical school was but a small one, had one great distinction; the chair of Medical Jurisprudence was occupied by one of the greatest living authorities on the subject, Dr. John Thorndyke. To him and his fascinating lectures my mind naturally turned as I ruminated on the problem; and presently, when I found myself unable to evolve any reasonable suggestion, the idea occurred to me to go and lay the facts before the great man himself.
Once started, the idea took full possession of me, and I decided to waste no time but to seek him at once. This was not his day for lecturing at the hospital, but I could find his address in our school calendar; and as my means, though modest, allowed of my retaining him in a regular way, I need have no scruples as to occupying his time. I looked at my watch. It was even now but a little past noon. I had time to change and get an early lunch and still make my visit while the day was young.
A couple of hours later found me walking slowly down the pleasant, tree-shaded footway of King’s Bench-walk in the Inner Temple, looking up at the numbers above the entries. Dr. Thorndyke’s number was 5a, which I presently discovered inscribed on the keystone of a fine, dignified brick portico of the seventeenth century, on the jamb whereof was painted his name as the occupant of the “1st pair.” I accordingly ascended the first pair, and was relieved to find that my teacher was apparently at home; for a massive outer door, above which his name was painted, stood wide open, revealing an inner door, furnished with a small, brilliantly burnished brass knocker, on which I ventured to execute a modest rat-tat. Almost immediately the door was opened by a small, clerical-looking gentleman who wore a black linen apron—and ought, from his appearance, to have had black gaiters to match—and who regarded me with a look of polite inquiry.
“I wanted to see Dr. Thorndyke,” said I, adding discreetly, “on a matter of professional business.”
The little gentleman beamed on me benevolently. “The doctor,” said he, “has gone to lunch at his club, but he will be coming in quite shortly. Would you like to wait for him?”
“Thank you,” I replied, “I should, if you think I shall not be disturbing him.”
The little gentleman smiled; that is to say, the multitudinous wrinkles that covered his face arranged themselves into a sort of diagram of geniality. It was the crinkliest smile that I have ever seen, but a singularly pleasant one.
“The doctor,” said he, “is never disturbed by professional business. No man is ever disturbed by having to do what he enjoys doing.”
As he spoke, his eyes turned unconsciously to the table, on which stood a microscope, a tray of slides and mounting material, and a small heap of what looked like dressmaker’s cuttings.
“Well,” I said, “don’t let me disturb you, if you are busy.”