"What can his opinion matter to me?" Mr. Sheldon asked himself; "opinion
cannot touch me in a case where there is no such thing as certainty. He
has seen the dilatation of the pupil--even that old fool Doddleson saw
it--and has taken fright. But no jury in England would hang a man on such
evidence as that; or if a jury could be found to put the rope round a
man's neck, the British public and the British press would be pretty sure
to get the rope taken off again."
"Chloric aether, spirits of ammonia--hum, ha, hum--yes," muttered Dr.
Jedd, looking at one prescription. "Quinine, yes; aqua pura," he
murmured, looking at another.
He threw them aside with a half-contemptuous gesture, and then took up a
pen and began to write.
"My mode of treatment will be quite different from that adopted by Dr.
Doddleson," he said; "but I apprehend no difficulty in bringing that
gentleman round to my view of the case when we meet."
As he wrote his prescription Philip Sheldon rose and looked over his
shoulder.
The form of the prescription told him that Dr. Jedd knew--all! He had
suspected this from the first, and the confirmation of this suspicion did
not shake him. He grew firmer, indeed; for now he knew on what ground he
was standing, and what forces were arrayed against him.
"I really do not understand the basis of your treatment," he said, still
looking over the physician's shoulder.
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