One explanation suggested itself, and it was that his friend’s brain might be gradually becoming affected. It was not a pleasant solution, yet more natural than any other alternative which might vaguely present itself. He had that evening questioned Gastineau about the pain which at times made him unfit to receive even him, his one friend: telling him that Dr. Hallamar could not understand the spinal injury at this stage causing him more than irritation, and perhaps a little smarting or burning. Gastineau had replied rather tartly that he might be allowed to be the best judge of his own sufferings, and that a man would feel pain in spite of the theories of the whole medical faculty that he had no business to have it.
So Herriard found no solution of his perplexities; the more he thought of his friend’s conduct the more strange and unaccountable did it appear; he could only postpone the elucidation for the light of further developments. And the first that came was one which gave him no help towards enlightenment.
When, early the next day, he went to the house in Mayfair to learn the result of the specialist’s visit, Gastineau told him calmly that the verdict was adverse.
“No; Dr. Hallamar says he can do nothing for me,” the patient reiterated, as Herriard seemed to question his first announcement. “It is a bad case of spinal paralysis following a crushing lesion, and hopelessly incurable. Happily I was never inclined to indulge in any real hope of a cure.”
“But,” Herriard protested, “I understood that it was in treating serious spinal lesions that Hallamar was so successful. I don’t understand his giving you up at least without a trial.”
“Hallamar is manifestly a very clever man, a genius possibly, in his own line,” Gastineau replied; “and your really clever man always knows his limitations. It is only pushing fools and quacks who blunder on till their own incompetency pulls them up sharply. This man, being no fool, and his interest being all the other way, tells me, after a careful examination, that he can do nothing for me. Neither you nor I, my dear Geof, need go behind that verdict.”
“I am sorry,” said Herriard, in a tone of genuine sympathy, “very sorry. I had set great hopes on his curing you.”
Gastineau’s harsh laugh seemed the outcome of repressed disappointment. “You thought this wonder-worker could revive the dead, for that is practically what I am. Even a Hallamar cannot perform miracles. As it turns out, my dear boy, you need have no cause for regret that you did not bring this medico to me sooner.”
Something in the tone of the last words put Herriard on his defence. “I give you my word, Gastineau——” he began warmly. But the other stopped him with a gesture.
“Please don’t trouble to protest,” he interrupted. “No doubt you did everything for the best, and, as it happens, could have done no more. I am here till I die, and it is just as well to know it. Let us dismiss the subject with a decree nisi. Now, can I help you with anything to-day, or is it all plain sailing?”