On the third morning, shortly before midday, just as I was thinking of going out to make my round of visits, an unusual incident occurred.
I heard a cab stop outside, and a moment later the surgery bell was violently rung. I started, for that sound was synonymous with half a crown.
A middle-aged woman, in black, evidently a domestic servant, stood in the surgery, and, as I confronted her, asked breathlessly—
“Are you the doctor, sir?”
I replied in the affirmative, and asked her to be seated.
“I’m sorry to trouble you, sir,” she said, “but would you come round with me? My mistress has been taken worse.”
“What’s the matter with her?” I inquired.
“I don’t know, sir,” answered the woman, in deep distress, “But I do beg of you to come at once.”
“Certainly I will,” I said. And leaving her, ascended, put on my boots, and placing my case of instruments in my pocket, quickly rejoined her, and entered the cab in waiting.
On our drive along Hammersmith Road, and through several thoroughfares lying on the right, I endeavoured to obtain from her some idea of the nature of the lady’s ailment; but she was either stupidly ignorant, or else had received instructions to remain silent.