“How’s your patient?” he asked shortly. Rainey was sufficiently influenced by the liquor he had taken to dare to resent Winthrop’s peremptory tone. His own in reply was designedly offensive. “My patient?” he inquired. “Mr. Hallowell,” snapped Winthrop, “he’s sick, isn’t he?” “Oh, I don’t know,” returned the Doctor. “You don’t know?” demanded Winthrop. “Well, I know. I know if he goes through this thing tonight, he’ll have another collapse. I saw one this morning. Why don’t you forbid it? You’re his medical adviser, aren’t you?” Rainey remained sullenly silent. “Answer me!” insisted the District Attorney. “You are, aren’t you?” “I am,” at last declared Rainey. “Well, then,” commanded Winthrop, “tell him to stop this. Tell him I advise it.” Through his glasses Rainey blinked violently at the District Attorney, and laughed. “I didn’t know,” he said, “that you were a medical man.” Winthrop looked at the Doctor so steadily, and for so long a time, that the eyes of the young man sought the floor and the ceiling; and his sneer changed to an expression of discomfort. “I am not,” said Winthrop. “I am the District Attorney of New York.” His tones were cold, precise; they fell upon the superheated brain of Dr. Rainey like drops from an icicle. “When I took over that office,” continued Winthrop, “I found a complaint against two medical students, a failure to report the death of an old man in a private sanitarium.” Winthrop lowered his eyes, and became deeply absorbed in the toe of his boot. “I haven’t looked into the papers, yet,” he said. Rainey, swaying slightly, jerked open the door of the bedroom. “I’ll tell him,” he panted thickly. “I’ll tell him to do as you say.” “Thank you, I wish you would,” said Winthrop. At the same moment, from the hall, Garrett announced, “Mrs. Vance, sir.” And Mabel Vance, tremulous and frightened, entered the room. Winthrop approached her eagerly. “Ah! Mrs. Vance,” he exclaimed, “can I see Miss Vera?” Embarrassed and unhappy, Mrs. Vance moved restlessly from foot to foot, and shook her head. “Please, Mr. District Attorney,” she begged. “I’m afraid not. This afternoon upset her so. And she’s so nervous and queer that the Professor thinks she shouldn’t see nobody.” “The Professor?” he commented. His voice was considerate, conciliatory. “Now, Mrs. Vance,” he said, “I’ve known Miss Vera ever since she was a little girl, known her longer than you have, and, I’m her friend, and you’re her friend, and--” “I am,” protested Mabel Vance tearfully. “Indeed I am!” “I know you are,” Winthrop interrupted hastily. “You’ve been more than a friend to her, you’ve been a sister, mother, and you don’t want any trouble to come to her, do you?” “I don’t,” cried the woman. “Oh!” she exclaimed miserably, “I told them there’d be trouble!” Winthrop laughed reassuringly.