"No, it's not doctors," said Barnaby. "Look here, Kilgour——"
"Seems to me," said Kilgour, "as if you had been roped in by Christian Science. Don't you know what a battered-looking ghost you are?"
"I'm all right," said Barnaby impatiently. "Just answer me, Kilgour. What did you mean by saying you told my wife——?"
"I wasn't meddling," said Kilgour sagely, "I was offering a rational opinion——"
"Oh, stop fooling!" said Barnaby. "Do you mean you saw her?"
The other man was puzzled by the urgent note in his voice. Then he laughed.
"Missed her have you?" he said. "Oh, yes, you fractious invalid,—I saw her."
"When?"
There was no mistaking it. Barnaby was in earnest. For the second time Kilgour had a twinge, an uncomfortable recollection of a brown leather arm-chair in Wimpole Street and long white fingers handling one or two queer little scientific dodges that pried into hidden things. Once he had had to go with a friend. It had turned him sick, that minute or two of waiting in dead silence to hear the verdict.... Had Barnaby been there? ... He shook off the unwelcome fancy. If he knew anything of that girl she would not let Barnaby go into a lions' den without her.
"Half an hour ago," he said. "With your cousin in attendance. I met them coming out of What's-his-name's,—that jeweller's shop in Bond Street."