e without reply, climbed to his
seat, touched the horse with his whip and drove off at a rapid pace
towards Newington Butts.

The little clock in the consulting-room showed that it was close on
eleven; time for a tired G.P. to be thinking of bed. But I was not
sleepy. Over my frugal supper I found myself taking up anew the thread
of my meditations, and afterwards, as I smoked my last pipe by the
expiring surgery fire, the strange and sinister features of the case
continued to obtrude themselves on my notice. I looked up Stillbury's
little reference library for information on the subject of sleeping
sickness, but learned no more than that it was "a rare and obscure
disease of which very little was known at present." I read up morphine
poisoning and was only further confirmed in the belief that my diagnosis
was correct; which would have been more satisfactory if the
circumstances had been different.

For the interest of the case was not merely academic. I was in a
position of great difficulty and responsibility and had to decide on a
course of action. What ought I to do? Should I maintain the professional
secrecy to which I was tacitly committed, or ought I to convey a hint to
the police?

Suddenly, and with a singular feeling of relief, I bethought myself of
my old friend and fellow-student, John Thorndyke, now an eminent
authority on Medical Jurisprudence. I had been associated with him
temporarily in one case as his assistant, and had then been deeply
impressed by his versatile learning, his acuteness and his marvellous
resourcefulness. Thorndyke was a barrister in extensive practice, and so
would be able to tell me at once what was my duty from a legal point of
view; and, as he was also a doctor of medicine, he would understand the
exigencies of medical practice. If I could find time to call at the
Temple and lay the case before him, all my doubts and difficulties would
be resolved.

Anxiously, I opened my visiting-list to see what kind of day's work was
in store for me on the morrow. It was not a heavy day, even allowing for
one or two extra calls in the morning, but yet I was doubtful whether it
would allow of my going so far from my district, until my eye caught,
near the foot of the page, the name of Burton. Now Mr. Burton lived in
one of the old houses on the east side of Bouverie Street, less than
five minutes' walk from Thorndyke's chambers in King's Bench Walk; and
he was, moreover, a "chronic" who could