You are of opinion that this injection was made at least eight hours
before the woman's death?"
"At least eight hours--yes."
"Eh bien!" said Max; "and have you had extensive experience of such
injections?"
Dr. Cumberly stared at him in some surprise.
"In a general way," he said, "a fair number of such cases have come
under my notice; but it chances that one of my patients, a regular
patient--is addicted to the vice."
"Injections?"
"Only as a makeshift. He has periodical bouts of opium smoking--what I
may term deliberate debauches."
"Ah!" Max was keenly interested. "This patient is a member of good
society?"
"He's a member of Parliament," replied Cumberly, a faint, humorous glint
creeping into his gray eyes; "but, of course, that is not an answer
to your question! Yes, he is of an old family, and is engaged to the
daughter of a peer."
"Dr. Cumberly," said Max, "in a case like the present--apart from the
fact that the happiness--pardieu! the life--of one of your own friends
is involved... should you count it a breach of professional etiquette to
divulge the name of that patient?"
It was a disturbing question; a momentous question for a fashionable
physician to be called upon to answer thus suddenly. Dr. Cumberly, who
had resumed his promenade of the carpet, stopped with his back to M.
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