"There's another affair that I want to tell you about; rather an unpleasant business."
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Stillbury. He put down his cup and regarded me with quite painful anxiety.
"It looks to me like an undoubted case of criminal poisoning," I continued.
Stillbury's face cleared instantly. "Oh, I'm glad it's nothing more than that," he said with an air of relief. "I was afraid it was some confounded woman. There's always that danger, you know, when a locum is young and happens—if I may say so, Jervis—to be a good-looking fellow. Let us hear about this case."
I gave him a condensed narrative of my connection with the mysterious patient, omitting any reference to Thorndyke, and passing lightly over my efforts to fix the position of the house, and wound up with the remark that the facts ought certainly to be communicated to the police.
"Yes," he admitted reluctantly, "I suppose you're right. Deuced unpleasant though. Police cases don't do a practice any good. They waste a lot of time, too; keep you hanging about to give evidence. Still, you are quite right. We can't stand by and see the poor devil poisoned without making some effort. But I don't believe the police will do anything in the matter."
"Don't you really?"
"No, I don't. They like to have things pretty well cut and dried before they act. A prosecution is an expensive affair, so they don't care to
