Seventeen
IC raddock had to wait a few minutes whilst Quimper finished his evening surgery, and then the doctor came to him.
He looked tired and depressed¹.
He offered Craddock a drink and when the latter accepted he mixed one for himself as well.
“Poor devils,” he said as he sank down in a worn easy-chair. “So scared and so stupid—no sense. Had a painfulcase this evening. Woman who ought to have come to me a year ago. If she’d come then, she might have beenoperated on successfully. Now it’s too late. Makes me mad. The truth is people are an extraordinary mixture ofheroism and cowardice². She’s suffering agony, and borne it without a word, just because she was too scared to comeand find out that what she feared might be true. At the other end of the scale are the people who come and waste mytime because they’ve got a dangerous swelling³ causing them agony on their little finger which they think may becancer and which turns out to be a common or garden chilblain! Well, don’t mind me. I’ve blown off steam now. Whatdid you want to see me about?”
“First, I’ve got you to thank, I believe, for advising Miss Crackenthorpe to come to me with the letter thatpurported to be from her brother’s widow.”
“Oh, that? Anything in it? I didn’t exactly advise her to come. She wanted to. She was worried. All the dear littlebrothers were trying to hold her back, of course.”
“Why should they?”
The doctor shrugged⁴ his shoulders.
“Afraid the lady might be proved genuine, I suppose.”
“Do you think the letter was genuine?”
“No idea. Never actually saw it. I should say it was someone who knew the facts, just trying to make a touch.
Hoping to work on Emma’s feelings. They were dead wrong, there. Emma’s no fool. She wouldn’t take an unknownsister-in-law to her bosom⁵ without asking a few practical questions first.”
He added with some curiosity:
“But why ask my views? I’ve got nothing to do with it?”
“I really came to ask you something quite different—but I don’t quite know how to put it.”

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