“Save her?” he echoed. “You can’t do that, unless you can perform miracles. But perhaps,” he added with a sneer, “such a virtuous person as yourself may be able to work marvels.”
“I may be able to save her from assassination,” I answered meaningly.
“You intend to oppose me?”
“I intend to prevent you from murdering your own daughter,” I said warmly. “Further, I forbid you to enter her room again. I am a medical man, and have been called in by you to attend her. Therefore, if you attempt to approach her I shall summon the police.”
“Rubbish!” he laughed, his sinister face now ashen pale. “You cannot prevent me from approaching her bedside.”
“I can, and I will,” I said. “You have expressed a desire that she should, for some mysterious reasons, die before sunset. You would kill her with your own hand, only you fear that when the doctor came to give his certificate he might discover evidence of foul play.”
“Exactly,” he responded with perfect coolness, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “It is because of that I offer you twenty thousand pounds. I am prepared to pay for your scientific knowledge.”
“And for a death certificate?”
“Of course.”
“Well, to speak plainly, I consider you an inhuman scoundrel,” I said. “If your daughter’s dying hour is not sacred to you, then no man’s honour or reputation is safe in your hands.”