"Surely. But I forget things so easily," said Uniacke calmly.
"Braybrooke is the man—Cavendish Square. An interesting fellow. You may have heard of his book on the use of colour as a sort of physic in certain forms of illness."
"I have. What sort of man is he?"
"Very small, very grey, very indecisive in manner."
"Indecisive?"
"In manner. In reality a man of infinite conviction."
"May I ask if you told him your story?"
"The story of my body—naturally. One goes to a doctor to do that."
"And did that narrative satisfy him?"