If he had watched the other’s face for a joyful sign, he did not find it. He could only set down the absence of any sign of eagerness to Gastineau’s great power of self-control. A curious gleam, which might mean anything, flashed into his eyes, that was all.
“Ah, tell me.”
“I can’t wonder that you don’t seem to believe it,” Gastineau’s manner forced Herriard to say. “But I have come across a great man, a Viennese specialist, over here just now, who has performed wonderful cures in cases like yours.” He went on to tell him all he knew of Dr. Hallamar.
Gastineau received the news with, to all appearance, a singular apathy; only his eyes, which were fixed on Herriard, gave evidence of a curious interest in the story.
“Yes,” he commented at length when Herriard had said all he had to tell, “it seems wonderful, and well worth trying.”
“I am thankful to hear you say that,” Herriard exclaimed heartily. “I was afraid from your manner that your fit of scepticism was going to include Dr. Hallamar and his treatment.”
Gastineau smiled. “I don’t say it does not. Still, as a drowning man, I am thankful for any straw to clutch at. How long do you say this Dr. Hallamar has been in England?”
It was an awkward question, and none the less so from the pointed manner of its putting. “He has been over here some little time,” Herriard answered self-consciously. “Stupidly I never thought to interest myself in the man or his particular line, and have only just found out his specialty. I have been reproaching myself ever since.”
“Not for long, I hope?” Herriard told himself there was something behind the words, but it may have been that he was unduly sensitive on the point.
“No, not for long, happily,” he replied. “Now,” he added, rising, “you will let me go off and fetch him round to you this very evening?”