"Put that in your pipe and smoke it
thoroughly, Roger."
"Whatever you do, don't trust one living soul in that place! The
unlikeliest person may prove to be up to the neck in the business."
"Or only up to the ankles, yet they may give you away to some one else,"
added my cousin.
"And _a propos_ of ankles," said my uncle, who was a confirmed bachelor,
"Beware of women most of all! Never trust a secret to a woman,
Roger--never!"
"There are none to confide in," I assured him, "except Miss Rendall--and
she is one of the suspected; whatever Jack's gallantry may say."
"My gallantry is a thing of the past," said Jack, "I suspect everybody in
that d----d place. And I'd advise you to do the same."
"Everybody!" echoed Sir Francis. "And confide in no one."
The evening came to an end at last, and with a sigh I left that
comfortable smoking room. As I passed out into the hall, however, my
uncle took my arm and made one brief but comforting speech in my ear.
"Don't worry about money matters, Roger, old fellow. Of course I'm paying
the doctor's fee, and if you ever need anything more just let me know. If
you bring this off--"
He did not finish his sentence but pressed my arm and gave me a nod
and a smile.
III
THE ALCOHOLIC PATIENT
On a raw grey February morning Mr. Thomas Sylvester Hobhouse bade a
polite farewell to the medical gentlemen who had escorted him thus far,
and stepped aboard the little steamer sailing from a certain small and
ancient port out into the northern isles of that archipelago.
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