unable to count more than a dozen bottles of drugs in the place. I peeped into a cupboard, thinking that Ringmer might be morbidly sensitive on the score of poisons, but it only sheltered a few empties. On the shelf just above the desk were some four or five "stock" mixtures, and scattered about here and there in any odd corner, were a few of the commoner drugs in daily use, a mere handful, making up the bare dozen I remember. The day-book, too, was a most eccentric compilation. So far as I could understand Ringmer’s hieroglyphics, there was no record of a single prescription; indeed, it was impossible to see what work was actually done, as there was next to nothing recorded against the days, let alone the laborious nights of which Mrs. Carpenter had spoken. But if I marvelled at the drugs, I was simply astonished at the collection of instruments! I had opened several drawers without discovering more than willow chip-boxes, corks, and the odds and ends one expects to find; and there only remained to explore a mahogany nest of drawers, much neater and cleaner than anything else in the place, which stood in a dark corner. At first I thought it locked, but when I gently touched the hinged flap which secured the whole nest I found it was open. The upper and narrower drawers were filled with papers, which I was careful not to disturb; and it was not until half-way down that I came on what I was seeking. As I expected, the instruments were not in very good order; indeed, they had been grossly neglected, and I made a resolution that if the work continued as slack as it promised to be, I would put in a little time at polishing them up, and generally making them more worthy of their office. And here a most puzzling thing happened. As I have said, it was only about half-way down the drawers that the instruments began—the usual assortment of knives and general tools for minor surgical work, all in very bad condition; but when I went lower I came on the queerest-looking set of things imaginable, the like of which I had never seen outside a museum of surgical instruments, and not even there! For if they were indeed surgical they must have belonged to some dead and gone era—the Saxon Heptarchy perhaps; none but a barbarian would nowadays use such things upon a human being. They reminded me of veterinary instruments more than anything else. But those I knew they were not. I happen to know something about veterinary practice, as a fellow-student took it into his head there was more money to be made out of horses than men, and before he qualified as a "vet." I spent some very interesting mornings with him in Great College Street, Camden Town. Quite characteristically, Ringmer seemed to keep his carpentering tools mixed up with the antiquities, and I noticed some drills, and even a collar from the lathe, jumbled together with them. The oddest thing of all with such a careless man was that the queer tools had not the slightest appearance of age, but were polished spick and span, without a particle of rust; indeed, Ringmer seemed to think more of them than of his legitimate implements.
I was still puzzling over this extraordinary collection when I felt myself pushed roughly aside, and turning, saw Ringmer, who had come softly downstairs in his slippers, and was now slapping in the drawers one after another. I noticed particularly that, whether from agitation or fever, he was shaking all over.
"I shall be much obliged," he said, speaking in a high, sharp voice, quite unlike his previous cool manner, "I shall be much obliged if, while you're down here, you won't go prying about."
I thought this a most ungentlemanly thing to say, and I took care to let him see I was offended.
"I am not in the habit of prying about, Dr. Ringmer, and I have never been accused of such a thing before in my life! I was simply taking a look round the surgery, and found the instrument drawers unlocked."
"Well, I ask your pardon for what I said, but I keep some most important document in these drawers, and I was upset at finding them open. I am feeling queer, and I really came down for the 'nepenthe.'" He carefully locked the flap-shutter, and then, taking the bottle from the shelf, poured a dose into a glass measure. "I hope you will make allowances for my miserable condition!" he said, and then disappeared silently with the draught.
Perhaps I am unduly sensitive, but, in spite of his apology, I still felt annoyed, and as there was nothing doing, I went and sat in a basket-chair in the garden to cool down a bit, and lighted a pipe and watched the stars come out; but I could not get over it. No doubt Ringmer felt seedy, but such a speech was quite uncalled for, and I was
