as death. I'll give him a chance,
but if those symptoms do not abate in twenty-four hours, I must
operate. You needn't be afraid, I was house surgeon at a London
Hospital--once, and I keep my hand in. Lucky you came straight
here."

Having made his preparations and washed his hands, he returned,
syringed the wound with some antiseptic stuff, and dressed and
bandaged the leg up to the knee. After this he gave Anscombe hot
milk to drink, with two eggs broken into it, and told him to rest
a while as he must not eat anything solid at present. Then he
threw a blanket over him, and, signing to me to come away, let
down a mat over the window.

"I put a little something into that milk," he said outside,
"which will send him to sleep for a few hours. So we will leave
him quiet. Now you'll want a wash."

"Where are you going to take Mr. Quatermain?" asked Marnham who
was seated on the stoep.

"Into my room," he answered.

"Why? There's Heda's ready."

"Heda might return at any moment," replied the doctor. "Also Mr.
Quatermain had better sleep in Mr. Anscombe's room. He will very
likely want some one to look after him at night."

Marnham opened his mouth to speak again, then changed his mind
and was silent, as a servant is silent under rebuke. The
incident was quite trifling, yet it revealed to me the relative
attitude of these two men. Without a doubt Rodd was the master
of his partner, who did not even care to dispute with him about
the matter of the use of his daughter's bedroom. They were a
queer couple who, had it not been for my anxiety as to Anscombe's
illness, would have interested me very much, as indeed they were
destined to do.

Well, I went to tidy up in the doctor's room, and as he left me
alone while I washed, had the opportunity of studying it a
little. Like the rest of the house it was lined with native wood
which was made to serve as the backs of bookshelves and of
cupboards filled with medicines and instruments. The books
formed a queer collection. There were medical works,
philosophical works, histories, novels, most of them French, and
other volumes of a sort that I imagine are generally kept under
lock and key; also some that had to do with occult matters.
There was even a Bible. I opened it thoughtlessly, half in idle
curiosity, to see whether it was ever used, only to replace it in
haste. For at the very page that my eye fell on, I remember it
was one of my favourite chapters