Then he said, speaking in a thin whisper, broken by frequent gaspings for breath: "Your mother informs me that you have brought some wonderful discovery back home with you, and she would fain cozen me into the belief that by means of it you can succeed in prolonging the life of a moribund like me. I tell you at once that I don't believe in your ability to do anything of the kind. No, damme! I'm too far gone for any hanky-panky of that sort, and both Banks and Mills would simply dub you a quack for your pains."
Dinkel's face remained impassive. "Permit me, Mr. Cortelyon," he said, and with that he proceeded to submit the other to a brief but searching examination. Till it had come to an end no one spoke. Then taking up a position on the hearth with his back to the fire, and speaking in the tone of one who felt himself master of the situation, he broke the silence:
"Your case, Mr. Cortelyon, I find to be exactly such as my mother described it to me. That I can permanently cure you I at once admit to be an impossibility. You are too advanced in life, and your constitution is too nearly worn out, to warrant any such hope. But that I can succeed in prolonging your life for weeks, nay, it may well be for several months to come, I make no manner of doubt--such is the marvellous efficacy of the remedy I have brought back with me from abroad."
This, to a man who had every reason for believing that a few more hours would bring the end, was news indeed. Weeks--perhaps months--of life, when he had looked forward to being buried about a week hence! It was too marvellous to credit.
For a little while he was too overcome to speak. Then he murmured, and Dinkel had to bend over him in order to catch what he said: "I--I cannot believe it--I cannot!"
"Nevertheless, Mr. Cortelyon, I am not dealing in romance--heaven forbid that I should in such a case!--but in sober fact. There is a homely proverb which affirms that the proof of the pudding is in the eating. I have brought with me a small quantity of my remedy. Will you permit me to administer a dose of it to you?"
Again there was a space of silence. The sick man's gaze was bent on the young doctor as if he would fain read him through and through, while his grizzled eyebrows made a straight line across his forehead, he liked the look of him; there was something in that strong, earnest, plain face which inspired confidence. Compared with him, Dr. Banks looked like an amiable old woman.
"First of all, I should like to know what this so-called wonder-worker of yours is compounded of," he murmured, after a time.
Dinkel shrugged his shoulders. "Its chief constituent is the dried and powdered bark of the tatao tree--a tree indigenous to the island of Java. The other ingredients consist of sundry drugs in certain fixed proportions, the secret of which I am not at present prepared to divulge."
"Quite right--quite right. Very sensible on your part. You don't want to poison me, I suppose--hey?"