I felt that the woman was regarding me out of the corner of her eye. She knew that she was torturing me. “Oh dear, yes. Not that I fancy that Bessie’s very fond of Dr. Hume. Indeed, it’s rather the other way. It’s my belief that she can’t bear the sight of the man. Though I don’t know why. He’s most charming--and so clever. Don’t you like clever people?” No, I did not, I never did, and never shall. “Should I ascertain how Bessie’s progressed since I went out, or don’t you care to stay?” “If--if you would let me know how she is!” Letting herself in with a latchkey, she made inquiries of the maid who appeared in the hall. “How is Miss Moore?” “I don’t think she’s quite so well, miss. I sent for Dr. Nockolds, and I did think of sending for Dr. Hume.” “Hume!” I cut in. “I shouldn’t send for Hume. The other man’s as good, if not better.” Miss Adair turned to me. “But, my dear Mr. Ferguson, Dr. Hume is a most skilful practitioner.” “Yes; but not--not in these sort of cases. I’m sure the other man’s better. And, if you like, I’ll send in a man; I--I know a most wonderful man.” “And what did Dr. Nockolds say?” “He seemed to think she was going on all right, only a little feverish. But he sent in a nurse, who’s going to sit up with her to-night.” “She’ll be all right with the nurse, not a doubt of it. Good night, Mr. Ferguson. So good of you to call.” That woman showed me to the door without giving me a chance to slip a word in edgeways. I went home in the cab which had brought her from the theatre. Hume indeed! Why had I not been trained to be a doctor? If there was a more miserable man in London that night than I was, I should have liked to have seen him. And on the morrow it was worse! They held the inquest, after the agreeable English custom, in a public-house--the Bolt and Tun--the sort of place no decent person would have entered in the ordinary way. There, in a long room, with a sanded floor, the coroner sat with his jury. The witnesses hung about as if they did not know what to do with themselves. The police were very much in evidence. And a heterogeneous collection of doubtful-looking men, women, and children represented the general public. The coroner was a man named Evanson--a Dr. Reginald Evanson. A small, thin, sharp-faced man with sandy hair, who looked as if he drank. I am very much mistaken if it was not only because he failed as a medical practitioner that he got himself elected coroner. I disliked the fellow directly I caught a glimpse of him; and I do not think that he took an inordinate fancy to me. As for his jury, he and they were a capital match; there was not one man among them to whom, on the strength of his appearance, I would have lent a five-pound note.