I know he didn’t believe in the chance of recovery … no one did.”
“Dr. Garford is dead,” said Wyant grimly.
Amherst strode up to him again. “You scoundrel—leave the house!” he commanded.
But still Wyant sneeringly stood his ground. “Not till I’ve finished, I can’t afford to let myself be kicked out like a dog because I happen to be in the way. Every doctor knows that in cases of spinal lesion recovery is becoming more and more frequent—if the patient survives the third week there’s every reason to hope. Those are the facts as they would appear to any surgeon. If they’re not true, why is Mrs. Amherst afraid of having them stated? Why has she been paying me for nearly a year to keep them quiet?”
“Oh” Justine moaned.
“I never thought of talking till luck went against me. Then I asked her for help—and reminded her of certain things. After that she kept me supplied pretty regularly.” He thrust his shaking hand into an inner pocket. “Here are her envelopes.… Quebec … Montreal … Saranac … I know just where you went on your honeymoon. She had to write often, because the sums were small. Why did she do it, if she wasn’t afraid? And why did she go upstairs just now to fetch me something? If you don’t believe me, ask her what she’s got in her hand.”
[ 515 ]
