The wound was
only a superficial one, and except for the bleeding I suffered no
inconvenience from it. But I had now a legitimate reason for visiting
Dr. Stuart, and as I drove on towards Battersea I was modifying my
original plan in accordance with the unforeseen conditions.
It was long past Dr. Stuart's hours of consultation when I arrived at
his house, and the servant showed me into a waiting-room, informing me
that the doctor would join me in a few minutes. Directly she had gone
out I took from the pocket of my tunic the sealed envelope which I had
intended to lodge with the doctor. Pah! it was stained with blood
which had trickled down from the wound in my scalp!
Actually, you will say, there was no reason why I should place a
letter in the hand of Dr. Stuart; my purpose would equally well be
served by _pretending_ that I had done so. Ah, but I knew that I had
to deal with clever people--with artists in crime--and it behooved me
to be an artist also. I had good reason to know that their system of
espionage was efficient; and the slipshod way is ever the wrong way.
The unpleasantly sticky letter I returned to my pocket, looking around
me for some means of making up any kind of packet which could do duty
as a substitute. Beyond a certain draped over a recess at one end of
the waiting-room I saw a row of boxes, a box of lint and other medical
paraphernalia. It was the doctor's dispensary. Perhaps I might find
there an envelope.
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