“I am very far from forgetting it. But Brandon and I feel that we have also our duty to perform. And that is why I take the liberty to suggest that he should choose his own mental specialist.” “Preposterous. What do you say, Parker?” Dr. Parker tacitly agreed. “Well,” said Dr. Joliffe, “if the squire will consent to Murfin, it’s all the same to me, but if my opinion is asked, I am bound to say that to my mind Moriarty is by far the abler man.” “Why do you think so?” Dr. Parker asked. “More modern in his ideas. Sees farther. Knows we are only at the threshold of a tremendous subject.” “Nonsense, Joliffe.” The vicar was losing a little of his patience. “White’s white, and black’s black. This man John Smith ought not to be at large, and neither you nor Brandon nor all the mad doctors in Harley Street can be allowed to dictate to us in the matter. We have our duty to do, and very disagreeable it is, but fortunately there is the county bench behind us.” “Quite so,” said Dr. Joliffe, drily. “At the same time we don’t want to put ourselves wrong with public opinion, nor do we want to act in any way that will hurt people’s feelings. And it is most undesirable that it should be made into a party or sectarian matter. Therefore, before we take definite action, I think I had better walk as far as Hart’s Ghyll, and have a few further words with Gervase Brandon myself.” Both doctors promptly fell in with the suggestion. There seemed much to be said for it. Dr. Parker was invited to await Mr. Perry-Hennington’s return and to join Dr. Joliffe in a cup of tea in the meantime. To this proposal Dr. Parker graciously assented; and the vicar, already inflamed with argument, went forth to Hart’s Ghyll to lay his views before Gervase Brandon. XVIII AS Mr. Perry-Hennington impatiently clicked the doctor’s gate, “Village pettifogger!” flashed along his nervous system. Only a stupid man, or a man too much in awe of Hart’s Ghyll could have been guilty of Joliffe’s scruples, at a moment so ill-timed. The afternoon’s oppression was growing into the certainty of a storm. There were many portents from the southwest to which the vicar, walking rapidly and gathering momentum as he went, paid no attention. He was really angry with Joliffe; a spirit naturally pontifical had been fretted by his attitude. Apart from the fact that the issue was clear to all reasonable minds, Joliffe, having to make a choice between Cæsar and Pompey, had chosen the latter. It was very annoying, and though Mr. Perry-Hennington prided himself upon his breadth of view, he could not suppress a feeling of resentment. In the middle of Hart’s Ghyll’s glorious avenue a fine car met the vicar, drove him under the trees and glided by with the flight of a bird. A lean-looking man in a white hat sat in a corner of the car. As he went past he waved a hand to the vicar and called out “Wednesday!” It was his new acquaintance, Mr. Murdwell.