Meanwhile the unfortunate Major was dying.  He remained conscious to the last, and, in spite of everything that I could do, suffered great pain.  Amongst other things he gave an order that a post-mortem examination should be made to ascertain the cause of his death.

When Mr. Selby had read the telegram from Sir John he handed it to me, saying, “It is only fair that you should see this.”

I read it, and, having asked for and obtained a copy, awaited the arrival of the other doctor before taking my departure.  When at length he came Major Selby was dead.

Two days later the post-mortem was held.  There were present at it Sir John Bell, myself, and the third medico, Dr. Jeffries.  It is unnecessary to go into details, but in the issue I was proved to be absolutely right.  Had Sir John taken the most ordinary care and precaution his patient need not have died—­indeed, his death was caused by the treatment.  The rubbing of the leg detached a portion of the clot, that might easily have been dissolved by rest and local applications.  As it was, it went to his lung, and he died.

When he saw how things were going, Sir John tried to minimise matters, but, unfortunately for him, I had my written diagnosis and a copy of his telegram, documents from which he could not escape.  Nor could he deny the results of the post-mortem, which took place in the presence and with the assistance of the third practitioner, a sound and independent, though not a very successful, man.

When everything was over there was something of a scene.  Sir John asserted that my conduct had been impertinent and unprofessional.  I replied that I had only done my duty and appealed to Dr. Jeffries, who remarked drily that we had to deal not with opinions and theories but with facts and that the facts seemed to bear me out.  On learning the truth, the relatives, who until now had been against me, turned upon Sir John and reproached him in strong terms, after which they went away leaving us face to face.  There was an awkward silence, which I broke by saying that I was sorry to have been the unwilling cause of this unpleasantness.

“You may well be sorry, sir,” Sir John answered in a cold voice that was yet alive with anger, “seeing that by your action you have exposed me to insult, I who have practised in this city for over thirty years, and who was your father’s partner before you were in your cradle.  Well, it is natural to youth to be impertinent.  To-day the laugh is yours, Dr. Therne, to-morrow it may be mine; so good-afternoon, and let us say no more about it,” and brushing by me rudely he passed from the house.

I followed him into the street watching his thick square form, of which even the back seemed to express sullen anger and determination.  At a distance of a few yards stood the brother of the dead man, Mr. Selby, talking to Dr. Jeffries, one of whom made some remark that caught Sir John’s ear.  He stopped as though to answer, then, changing his mind, turned his head and looked back at me.  My sight is good and I could see his face clearly; on it was a look of malignity that was not pleasant to behold.