Stillbury's face cleared instantly. "Oh, I'm glad it's nothing more than
that," he said with an air of relief. "I was afraid, it was some
confounded woman. There's always that danger, you know, when a locum is
young and happens--if I may say so, Jervis--to be a good-looking fellow.
Let us hear about this case."

I gave him a condensed narrative of my connection with the mysterious
patient, omitting any reference to Thorndyke, and passing lightly over
my efforts to fix the position of the house, and wound up with the
remark that the facts ought certainly to be communicated to the police.

"Yes," he admitted reluctantly, "I suppose you're right. Deuced
unpleasant though. Police cases don't do a practice any good. They waste
a lot of time, too; keep you hanging about to give evidence. Still, you
are quite right. We can't stand by and see the poor devil poisoned
without making some effort. But I don't believe the police will do
anything in the matter."

"Don't you really?"

"No, I don't. They like to have things pretty well cut and dried before
they act. A prosecution is an expensive affair, so they don't care to
prosecute unless they are fairly sure of a conviction. If they fail they
get hauled over the coals."

"But don't you think they would get a conviction in this case?"

"Not on your evidence, Jervis. They might pick up something fresh, but,
if they didn't they would fail. You haven't got enough hard-baked facts