“Not in the least,” he replied warmly. “I think you have shown a very proper spirit in the way you have interpreted your neighbourly duties to this poor, bereaved girl, who, apparently, has no one else to watch over her interests. And I take it as a compliment from an old pupil that you should seek my help.”
I thanked him again, very sincerely, and had risen to take my leave, when he held up his hand.
“Sit down, Gray, if you are not in a hurry,” said he. “I hear the pleasant clink of crockery. Let us follow the example of the eminent Mr. Pepys—though it isn’t always a safe thing to do—and taste of the ‘China drinke called Tee,’ while you tell me what you have been doing since you went forth from the fold.”
It struck me that the sense of hearing was uncommonly well developed in this establishment, for I had heard nothing; but a few moments later the door opened very quietly, and Mr. Polton entered with a tray on which was a very trim, and even dainty, tea service, which he set out noiselessly and with a curious neatness of hand, on a small table placed conveniently between our chairs.
“Thank you, Polton,” said Thorndyke. “I see you diagnosed my visitor as a professional brother.”
Polton crinkled benevolently and admitted that he “thought the gentleman looked like one of us”; and with this he melted away, closing the door behind him without a sound.
“Well,” said Thorndyke, as he handed me my teacup, “what have you been doing with yourself since you left the hospital?”
“Principally looking for a job,” I replied; “and now I’ve found one—a temporary job, though I don’t know how temporary. Tomorrow I take over the practice of a man named Cornish in Mecklenburgh Square. Cornish is a good deal run down, and wants to take a quiet holiday on the East Coast. He doesn’t know how long he will be away. It depends on his health; but I have told him that I am prepared to stay as long as he wants me to. I hope I shan’t make a mess of the job, but I know nothing of general practice.”
“You will soon pick it up,” said Thorndyke; “but you had better get your principal to show you the ropes before he goes, particularly the dispensing and bookkeeping. The essentials of practice, you know, but the little practical details have to be learnt, and you are doing well to make your first plunge into professional life in a practice that is a going concern. The experience will be valuable when you make a start on your own account.”
On this plane of advice and comment our talk proceeded until I thought that I had stayed long enough, when I once more rose to depart. Then, as we were shaking hands, Thorndyke reverted to the object of my visit.
“I shall not appear in this case unless the coroner wishes me to,” said he. “I shall consult with the official medical witness, and he will probably give our joint conclusions in his evidence; unless we should fail to agree, which is very unlikely. But you will be present, and you had better attend closely to the evidence of all the witnesses and let me have your account of the inquest as well as the shorthand writer’s report. Goodbye, Gray. You won’t be far away if you should want my help or advice.”
I left the precincts of the Temple in a much more satisfied frame of mind. The mystery which seemed to me to surround the death of Julius D’Arblay would be investigated by a supremely competent observer, and I need not further concern myself with it. Perhaps there was no mystery at all. Possibly the evidence at the inquest would supply a simple explanation. At any rate, it was out of my hands and into those of one immeasurably more capable, and I could now give my undivided attention to the new chapter of my life that was to open on the morrow.
III
The Doctor’s Revelations
It was in the evening of the very day on which I took up my duties at number 61 Mecklenburgh Square that the little blue paper was delivered summoning me to attend at the inquest on the following day. Fortunately, Dr. Cornish’s practice was not of a highly strenuous type, and the time of year tended to a small visiting list, so that I had no difficulty in making the necessary arrangements. In fact, I made them so well that I was the first to arrive at the little building in which the inquiry was to be held and was admitted by the caretaker to the empty room. A few minutes later, however, the inspector made his appearance, and while I was exchanging a few words with him the jury began to straggle in, followed by the reporters, a few spectators and witnesses, and finally the coroner, who immediately took his place at the head of the table and prepared to open the proceedings.
At this moment I observed Miss D’Arblay standing hesitatingly in the doorway and looking into the room as if reluctant to enter. I at once rose and went to her, and as I approached she greeted me with a friendly smile and held out her hand; and I then perceived, lurking just outside, a tall, black-apparelled woman, whose face I recognized as that which I had seen at the window.
“This,” said Miss D’Arblay, presenting me, “is my friend, Miss Boler, of whom I spoke to you. This, Arabella dear, is the gentleman who was so kind to me on that dreadful day.”
I bowed deferentially, and Miss Boler recognized my existence by a majestic inclination, remarking that she remembered me. As the coroner now began his preliminary address to the jury, I hastened to find three chairs near the table, and, having
