no particular harm," said Scrope.

"You are the first he spared," said Dr. Brighton-Pomfrey.

"Did he--? Was he unskilful?"

"Unskilful is hardly the word."

"Were his methods peculiar?"

The little doctor sprang to his feet and began to pace about the room.
"Peculiar!" he said. "It was abominable that they should send him to me.
Abominable!"

He turned, with all the round knobs that constituted his face, aglow.
His side-whiskers waved apart like wings about to flap. He protruded his
face towards his seated patient. "I am glad that he has been killed," he
said. "Glad! There!"

His glasses fell off--shocked beyond measure. He did not heed them. They
swung about in front of him as if they sought to escape while he poured
out his feelings.

"Fool!" he spluttered with demonstrative gestures. "Dangerous fool! His
one idea--to upset everybody. Drugs, Sir! The most terrible drugs! I
come back. Find ladies. High social position. Morphine-maniacs. Others.
Reckless use of the most dangerous expedients.... Cocaine not in it.
Stimulants--violent stimulants. In the highest quarters. Terrible.
Exalted persons. Royalty! Anxious to be given war work and become
anonymous.... Horrible! He's been a terrible influence. One idea--to
disturb soul and body. Minds unhinged. Personal relations deranged.
Shattered the practice of years. The harm he has done! The harm!"

He looked as though he was trying to burst--as a final expression of
wrath. He failed. His hands felt trembling to recover his pince-nez.
Then from his tail pocket he produced a large silk handkerchief and
wiped the glasses. Replaced them. Wriggled his head in his collar,
running his fingers round his neck. Patted his tie.

"Excuse this outbreak!" he said. "But Dr. Dale has inflicted injuries!"

Scrope got up, walked slowly to the window, clasping his hands behind
his back, and turned. His manner still retained much of his episcopal
dignity. "I am sorry. But still you can no doubt tell from your books
what it was he gave me. It was a tonic that had a very great effect on
me. And I need it badly now."

Dr. Brighton-Pomfrey was quietly malignant. "He kept no diary at all,"
he said. "No diary at all."

"But

"If he did," said Dr. Brighton-Pomfrey, holding up a flat hand and
wagging it from side to side, "I wouldn't follow his treatment."
He intensified with the hand going faster. "I wouldn't follow his
treatment. Not under any circumstances."

"Naturally," said S