I turned the handle and walked in. He was seated before a stained and dinted urn of copper, and a great slice of toast from which he had just bitten a jagged semicircle was in his hand. “I told him you was at breakfast,” said the cross girl, “but nothing ’ud suit his lordship but to drive his elbow into my chest and walk in.” She emphasized her little lie with a pressure of her hand upon the presumably wounded part. “Assault and battery,” said the doctor, showing his teeth. “Get out of my house, fellow.” “After I’ve had a word with you.” “Eh? Edith, go and fetch a constable.” “Certainly,” I said. “The very thing I should like. I’ll wait here till he comes.” He called to the girl as she was running out: “Wait a bit! Leave the fellow with me and shut the door.” She obeyed sulkily and we were alone together. He went on with his breakfast with an affectation of unconcern and took no notice of me whatever. “I believe you wished me to let you know, Dr. Crackenthorpe, if I should be in further need of your services?” He swallowed huge gulps of tea with an unpleasant noise, protruding his lips like a gargoyle, but answer made he none. “I am in need of your services.” He dissected the leg of a fowl with professional relish, but did not speak. In a gust of childish anger that was farcical I nipped the joint between finger and thumb and threw it into the fire. For an instant he sat dumfounded staring at his empty plate; then he scrambled to his feet and ran to the mantelshelf all in a scurry of fury and began diving among the litter there and tossing it right and left. “The pistol--the pistol!” he muttered, in a cracked voice. “Where is it? What have I done with it?” “Never mind. You expect a fee for your services, I suppose?” He slackened in his feverish search and I saw he was listening to me. “You don’t want to kill the goose with the golden eggs, I presume?” said I, coolly. He twisted round and faced me. “You have a rude boorish insistence of your own,” he cried at me hoarsely. “But I suppose I must value it for what it’s worth. It’s the custom to ask a fee for professional services.” “You volunteered yours, you know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Quite so,” he said. “The matter lies with you.” “With you, I think. In visiting my father the other night you had no secret hope, I suppose, that we should pay you in the sort of coin you have already had too much of?” “You insult me, sir.” “Unwittingly, I assure you. Will you answer me one question? Is there the remotest chance of my father recovering from this attack?” “Not the remotest--not of his definitely rallying even, I should say.” “Is that only an opinion?” “Bah! Miracles don’t occur in surgery. He is practically a dead man, I tell you.” “Why do you adopt this attitude to me, then, if you have an eye to a particular sort of fee?”