"Quite so. Just as I thought. A blind alley. Will you tell this ... er ... not always reasonable lady, from me--from Algernon Carfew--that her son is the same as lost to her if she cannot find sufficient reasonableness to have him committed to a sanatorium for his own good?"
"But you think it won't have much effect--eh!"
"Then send her to _me_!" he said. It was the voice of an Imperator of Medicine.
"Mh!... This complicates matters. For the present moment, Mr. Chesney is out of danger. I have given his man--Naylor...!"
"I have given Gaynor full instructions. The attack will be over in twenty-four hours. He has taken a most amazing amount of cocaine within the last three days--winding up with a huge dose of morphia. Cocaine excites--morphia soothes--in the end. When was he last violent?"
"Last evening," she managed to articulate.
"Quite so. Very violent, indeed, I presume. Was he abusive?"
"Mh. Well, it rests with you, and--er--Lady Wychfield--Wychcote. Quite so. I will not undertake the case under the present conditions. By the way--make no mistake about this man Naylor. He has been very faithful. If he had not succeeded in persuading his master to moderate the drug at times--well----" He paused; then said abruptly: "Mr. Chesney would probably be dead or a hopeless lunatic."
Carfew looked at her earnestly a few moments. Then his hard, acute visage softened.
"I see you're trying hard to be brave," he said. "You've had a severe shock. Allow me to prescribe for you at least."
"Then go to bed, and let your maid rub you with alcohol--a soothing friction. Then darken your room and try to sleep."
"Thank you very much," said Sophy again, and this time she smiled faintly.
"Ha!--I know what that smile means. That it's easy for a medical ignoramus to prescribe sleep when there's no dose of that best of physics available. But believe me, my dear lady"--here his voice softened again--"exhaustion is double first-cousin to sleep--you are in a very exhausted condition. Only lie down as I advise you--even without the massage, if you shrink from that--and you will be asleep before you know it."
"Good!" he exclaimed. He went towards the door, then turned again.
"Tell Lady Wych--yes, Wychcote; thanks--tell her if she does not believe what I say, to ask her son to show her his bare arms. Good afternoon."