ished. To bring an unfounded
accusation against the doctor one worked for was an unpardonable
offence. No physician would think of employing her again. She might
have the purest motives for her action, they would not help her one
particle. Henceforward she would be branded as flighty, irrational,
not to be depended upon. Her living would be taken away, but something
even worse might happen. She stood the chance of landing herself in a
libel action, she might indeed be accused of having the intent to
blackmail. She knew one case of the kind--the woman in question had
been utterly disgraced.

No, only too obviously she could not afford the risk of sharing her
secret doubts, or at least not yet. It was not as if by any possible
knowledge or means she could save the old man, who was now doomed,
beyond the shadow of a doubt. His symptoms were already those of the
last, fatal stage of the disease. It was too late to hope for any
change, had been too late for at least two days. No, whatever she did
could only be in the interests of justice, unless...

Suddenly she thought of Roget. For the past few days he had shown
definite signs of typhoid, mild, it is true, but unmistakable. She
recalled the fact that the father, too, had suffered from a light form
of the disease in the beginning. Roger's case was extraordinarily
similar, allowing for his being a younger, more vigorous man. Of
course, she reflected, veering round, typhoid was rampant in and about
Cannes; it was not strange that two members of a household should
succumb--no, more than two in this case, for first of all there had
been the housemaid, then, later, Lady Clifford, only she had staved it
off. There might well be someone in the house who was an unconscious
carrier of germs, like the famous "Typhoid Mary," in America, some
years ago. No, it might all be perfectly natural, and yet ... there
remained the poisonous doubt in her mind. It was just possible there
was something wrong. What in heaven's name ought she to do?

It was not till early morning that she reached a decision. There _was_
a thing she could and would do, to-morrow, without waste of time.
Having made up her mind upon this point, she drifted off into a light
and troubled sleep, so unlike sleep indeed that she could hardly
believe she had lost consciousness when sounds in the hall roused her.
She slid out of bed and into her dressing-gown. It was four o'clock.
She knew by instinct