“You are really too kind,” murmured the doctor.  The air of relief that was written on his face was pathetically eloquent.

“Now not a word about the case till we have had dinner,” commanded Craig.  “I see very plainly that you have been worrying about the blow for a long time.  Well, it has fallen.  The next thing to do is to look over the situation and see where we stand.”

Dinner over, we rode down-town in the subway, and Gregory ushered us into an office-building on Madison Avenue, where he had a very handsome suite of several rooms.  We sat down in his waiting-room to discuss the affair.

“It is indeed a very tragic case,” began Kennedy, “almost more tragic than if the victim had been killed outright.  Mrs. Huntington Close is or rather I suppose I should say was—­one of the famous beauties of the city.  From what the paper says, her beauty has been hopelessly ruined by this dermatitis, which, I understand, Doctor, is practically incurable.”

Dr. Gregory nodded, and I could not help following his eyes as he looked at his own rough and scarred hands.

“Also,” continued Craig, with, his eyes half closed and his finger-tips together, as if he were taking a mental inventory of the facts in the case, “her nerves are so shattered that she will be years in recovering, if she ever recovers.”

“Yes,” said the doctor simply.  “I myself, for instance, am subject to the most unexpected attacks of neuritis.  But, of course, I am under the influence of the rays fifty or sixty times a day, while she had only a few treatments at intervals of many days.”

“Now, on the other hand,” resumed Craig, “I know you, Gregory, very well.  Only the other day, before any of this came out, you told me the whole story with your fears as to the outcome.  I know that the lawyer of Close’s has been keeping this thing hanging over your head for a long time.  And I also know that you are one of the most careful X-ray operators in the city.  If this suit goes against you, one of the most brilliant men of science in America will be ruined.  Now, having said this much, let me ask you to describe just exactly what treatments you gave Mrs. Close.”

The doctor led us into his X-ray room adjoining.  A number of X-ray tubes were neatly put away in a great glass case, and at one end of the room was an operating-table with an X-ray apparatus suspended over it.  A glance at the room showed that Kennedy’s praise was not exaggerated.

“How many treatments did you give Mrs. Close?” asked Kennedy.

“Not over a dozen, I should say,” replied Gregory.  “I have a record of them and the dates, which I will give you presently.  Certainly they were not numerous enough or frequent enough to have caused a dermatitis such as she has.  Besides, look here.  I have an apparatus which, for safety to the patient, has few equals in the country.  This big lead-glass bowl, which is placed over my X-ray tube when in use, cuts off the rays at every point except exactly where they are needed.”