“I think, Miss Trelawny, that we had better have a consultation on this case.”  She answered at once, seemingly a little to his surprise: 

“I am glad you have mentioned it.  I quite agree.  Who would you suggest?”

“Have you any choice yourself?” he asked.  “Any one to whom your Father is known?  Has he ever consulted any one?”

“Not to my knowledge.  But I hope you will choose whoever you think would be best.  My dear Father should have all the help that can be had; and I shall be deeply obliged by your choosing.  Who is the best man in London—­anywhere else—­in such a case?”

“There are several good men; but they are scattered all over the world.  Somehow, the brain specialist is born, not made; though a lot of hard work goes to the completing of him and fitting him for his work.  He comes from no country.  The most daring investigator up to the present is Chiuni, the Japanese; but he is rather a surgical experimentalist than a practitioner.  Then there is Zammerfest of Uppsala, and Fenelon of the University of Paris, and Morfessi of Naples.  These, of course, are in addition to our own men, Morrison of Aberdeen and Richardson of Birmingham.  But before them all I would put Frere of King’s College.  Of all that I have named he best unites theory and practice.  He has no hobbies—­that have been discovered at all events; and his experience is immense.  It is the regret of all of us who admire him that the nerve so firm and the hand so dexterous must yield to time.  For my own part I would rather have Frere than any one living.”

“Then,” said Miss Trelawny decisively, “let us have Doctor Frere—­by the way, is he ‘Doctor’ or ’Mister’?—­as early as we can get him in the morning!”

A weight seemed removed from him, and he spoke with greater ease and geniality than he had yet shown: 

“He is Sir James Frere.  I shall go to him myself as early as it is possibly to see him, and shall ask him to come here at once.”  Then turning to me he said: 

“You had better let me dress your hand.”

“It is nothing,” I said.

“Nevertheless it should be seen to.  A scratch from any animal might turn out dangerous; there is nothing like being safe.”  I submitted; forthwith he began to dress my hand.  He examined with a magnifying-glass the several parallel wounds, and compared them with the slip of blotting-paper, marked with Silvio’s claws, which he took from his pocket-book.  He put back the paper, simply remarking: 

“It’s a pity that Silvio slips in—­and out—­just when he shouldn’t.”

The morning wore slowly on.  By ten o’clock Nurse Kennedy had so far recovered that she was able to sit up and talk intelligibly.  But she was still hazy in her thoughts; and could not remember anything that had happened on the previous night, after her taking her place by the sick-bed.  As yet she seemed neither to know nor care what had happened.