“Take poison.”
“Take poison? What do you mean?”
“Well, sir,” exclaimed the constable, in a not unkind tone, “I found you the night before last on a seat in Kensington Gardens. There was this empty bottle beside you,” and he held up a small dark blue phial.
“Then you think that I attempted suicide!” I exclaimed, amazed.
“I didn’t think you’d only attempted it—I believed you’d done the trick,” was the man’s reply. “You’ve got the ’orspitel people to thank for bringing you round. At first they thought you a dead ’un.”
“And I do thank them,” I said. “And you also, constable. I suppose, however, I’m in custody for attempted suicide, eh?”
“That’s about it, sir. At least that’s why I’m on duty ’ere!”
“Well,” I exclaimed, smiling, “I wonder if you’d like me to make a statement to your inspector. I could tell him something that would interest him.”
“Not now, not now,” protested the nurse. “You’re not strong enough. Go to sleep again. You’ll be better this evening.”
“Well, will you ask the inspector to come and see me this evening?” I urged.