at twenty-four hours' notice. Enquiry—gas gangrene. There was nothing for it but to leave things in his hands."
Dr. Brighton-Pomfrey disavowed responsibility with an open, stumpy-fingered hand.
"He did me 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. Morphino-maniacs. Others. Reckless use of the most dangerous expedients.... Cocaine not in it. Stimulants—violent stimu-
