“It’s at Farnley, in Dorsetshire.  Doctor South.  You’d have to go down at once; his assistant has developed mumps.  I believe it’s a very pleasant place.”

There was something in the secretary’s manner that puzzled Philip.  It was a little doubtful.

“What’s the crab in it?” he asked.

The secretary hesitated a moment and laughed in a conciliating fashion.

“Well, the fact is, I understand he’s rather a crusty, funny old fellow.  The agencies won’t send him anyone any more.  He speaks his mind very openly, and men don’t like it.”

“But d’you think he’ll be satisfied with a man who’s only just qualified?  After all I have no experience.”

“He ought to be glad to get you,” said the secretary diplomatically.

Philip thought for a moment.  He had nothing to do for the next few weeks, and he was glad of the chance to earn a bit of money.  He could put it aside for the holiday in Spain which he had promised himself when he had finished his appointment at St. Luke’s or, if they would not give him anything there, at some other hospital.

“All right.  I’ll go.”

“The only thing is, you must go this afternoon.  Will that suit you?  If so, I’ll send a wire at once.”

Philip would have liked a few days to himself; but he had seen the Athelnys the night before (he had gone at once to take them his good news) and there was really no reason why he should not start immediately.  He had little luggage to pack.  Soon after seven that evening he got out of the station at Farnley and took a cab to Doctor South’s.  It was a broad low stucco house, with a Virginia creeper growing over it.  He was shown into the consulting-room.  An old man was writing at a desk.  He looked up as the maid ushered Philip in.  He did not get up, and he did not speak; he merely stared at Philip.  Philip was taken aback.

“I think you’re expecting me,” he said.  “The secretary of St. Luke’s wired to you this morning.”

“I kept dinner back for half an hour.  D’you want to wash?”

“I do,” said Philip.

Doctor South amused him by his odd manner.  He got up now, and Philip saw that he was a man of middle height, thin, with white hair cut very short and a long mouth closed so tightly that he seemed to have no lips at all; he was clean-shaven but for small white whiskers, and they increased the squareness of face which his firm jaw gave him.  He wore a brown tweed suit and a white stock.  His clothes hung loosely about him as though they had been made for a much larger man.  He looked like a respectable farmer of the middle of the nineteenth century.  He opened the door.

“There is the dining-room,” he said, pointing to the door opposite.  “Your bed-room is the first door you come to when you get on the landing.  Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

During dinner Philip knew that Doctor South was examining him, but he spoke little, and Philip felt that he did not want to hear his assistant talk.