would not be wisdom on my part to let him take a sudden and suspicious turn for the worse.
I gave him morphia that night.
When I visited him he was sitting up in bed, flushed, sweating, and laughing immoderately.
In the morning I had a long conversation with the Admiral, and took the opportunity of giving him a little arsenic in his whisky and soda.
I told him all the circumstances, and he was shocked.
"What on earth can we do, d'Escombe?" he said. "I'm sure he'll do what he says. Poor, poor Louise!"
"I don't know; I'm afraid I'm a ruined man," I replied; "but I would give anything to save her."
After seeing my patient, I sat down in Mrs. Crosswell's cosy little room and had a long talk. At the end of this conversation she made the remark:
"Well, Dr. d'Escombe, if that arrangement is carried out, I shall thank you and bless you all my days."
The case went on through the usual course of such attacks, but as the man rallied, a curious change seemed to take place in his character and general demeanour.
