“My patient?” he inquired.
“Mr. Hallowell,” snapped Winthrop, “he’s sick, isn’t he?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” returned the Doctor.
“You don’t know?” demanded Winthrop. “Well, I know. I know if he goes through this thing tonight, he’ll have another collapse. I saw one this morning. Why don’t you forbid it? You’re his medical adviser, aren’t you?”
Rainey remained sullenly silent.
“Answer me!” insisted the District Attorney. “You are, aren’t you?”
“I am,” at last declared Rainey.
“Well, then,” commanded Winthrop, “tell him to stop this. Tell him I advise it.”
Through his glasses Rainey blinked violently at the District Attorney, and laughed. “I didn’t know,” he said, “that you were a medical man.”
Winthrop looked at the Doctor so steadily, and for so long a time, that the eyes of the young man sought the floor and the ceiling; and his sneer changed to an expression of discomfort.