“The Fifth Satire,” repeated the Doctor, keeping his eyes on the book.
Certainly the Doctor was very queer this morning. One would suppose his life depended on the discovery of that unlucky line, so keenly he watched Loman as he turned over the pages.
Was the book bewitched? Loman, as he held it, suddenly turned deadly white, and closed it quickly, as if between the leaves there lay a scorpion! Then again, seeing the Doctor’s eye fixed on him, he opened it, and, with faltering voice, began to read the line.
“That will do. Hand me the book, Loman.”
The Doctor’s voice, as he uttered these words, was strangely solemn.
Loman hurriedly took a paper from between the leaves and handed the book to the Doctor.
“Hand me that paper, Loman!”
Loman hesitated.
“Obey me, Loman!”
Loman looked once at the Doctor, and once at the Juvenal; then, with a groan, he flung the paper down on to the desk.