Mombelli shrank visibly from the questions and from the stern eyes that seemed to search his very soul.
'I ... I ... have been ill,' he faltered. 'Very ill. It is a miracle I am alive to-day.'
'But your teeth, man?'
'I have lost them as you see. A consequence of my disease.'
A horrible suspicion was sprouting in Bellarion's mind, nourished by the memory of the rumour of this man's death which Venegono had reported. He took the doctor by the sleeve of his velvet gown, and drew him towards one of the double windows. His shrinking, his obvious reluctance to undergo this closer inspection, were so much added food to Bellarion's suspicion.
'How do you call this disease?' he asked.
Clearly, from his hesitancy, Mombelli had been unprepared for the question. 'It ... it is a sort of podagric affection,' he mumbled.
'And your thumb? Why is that bandaged?'
Terror leapt to Mombelli's eyes. His toothless jaws worked fearfully. 'That? That is naught. An injury.'
'Take off the bandage. Take it off, man. I desire to see this injury. Do you hear me?'