"The matter," said Ritchie, very quietly, "is that the man has been poisoned."
CHAPTER VI
I don't know whether I started, but the word gave me an unpleasant jar.
"Poisoned!" I repeated. "Do you mean poisoned purposely?"
Ritchie frowned. "I can't say. It's a curious case, but there's no doubt that he's suffering from some form of poisoning. It might be one of half a dozen."
"What are we to do?" I asked.
"At present," said Ritchie, "the only thing to do is to give him a strong emetic and keep him warm. I'll send you a nurse straight away, from St. George's, with full instructions. I shall come round again myself later in the morning."
I tried not to show it, but I was feeling horribly upset and very angry. Could it be possible that by accident Milford had fallen a victim to some delicate attention aimed at myself? Or had the mere fact of his loyalty to me been regarded as a sufficient reason for putting him out of the way? Whichever was the case, I took a very hearty resolve that, given the opportunity, I would make someone pay pretty badly for this mistaken effort.
I conducted Ritchie upstairs, and for some minutes we stood in the hall, talking about the case. I could see that the good man was considerably worried over its unusual features. Doctors see some curious things in their daily rounds, but to find a Park Lane butler suffering from apparent symptoms of wilful poisoning is enough to disturb even their unrivalled equanimity.