The nurse, who had taken the chance of removing the empty bowl, here observed that her patient had slept soundly ever since we had put him to bed.
"Oh, he's much better," said the doctor—"there can be no question about that. Indeed, I don't think it would do him any harm to get up. Of course he mustn't think of work for another day or two, but otherwise we can consider the cure complete. In future, I shall recommend one burglar to be taken nightly for any case that I feel doubtful about."
Chuckling heartily at his own jest, he accompanied me upstairs. "It really is a most remarkable recovery," he said. "The man is practically all right again—pulse a little weak, but otherwise nothing the matter with him. It just illustrates the value of a sudden mental shock in cases of collapse. By the way, I received the analyst's report this morning.
"Oh!" I observed. "What did he say?"
The doctor frowned. "Well, it's curious, but he admits that at present he's baffled. There are distinct traces of a vegetable poison of some kind, but it responds to none of the usual tests. However, he's going to make some further researches, so I suppose I shall hear from him again."
"You must let me know," I said brazenly, handing him his hat. "I mean to get to the bottom of this."
Promising he would, and congratulating me again on my frustration of the burglar, the worthy man went off. What his private opinion of my household must have been I hardly liked to contemplate; but since he showed no signs of communicating it to the police, I was well content to let matters rest as they were.
Before starting out to have a little chat with my friend Mr. Seagrave, I summoned the parlour-maid and gave her instructions that if Billy Logan rang up or called while I was out, she was to tell him that he would find me at home any time that afternoon. Then, equipping myself with my trusty sword-stick, I set forth for Hanover Square.
It was my intention, as you may imagine, to speak some very plain words to the portly gentleman who had sent "Francis" round on the previous day; but, as some forgotten philosopher once observed, "it takes two to make a quarrel." One can't be brutal to a worm, and Mr. Seagrave more nearly represented that creature than anybody I have ever met.
The moment I entered his office he fell upon me with apologies so abject that my pretty talent for remonstrance had no chance of asserting itself.