“Nobody will employ you?  I will find folk who will employ you.  Action for damages?  I’ll stand the shot of that however it goes; I love a lawsuit, and a thousand or two won’t hurt me.  And now I came round here to ask you to supper, and I think you’ll be better drinking port with Stephen Strong than hell-fire with another tradesman, whom I won’t name.  Before we go, however, just give me your word of honour that there shall be no more of this sort of thing,” and he pointed to the broken glass, “now or afterwards, as I don’t want to be mixed up with inquests.”

“I promise,” I answered presently.

“That will do,” said Mr. Strong, as he led the way to the door.

I need not dwell upon the further events of that evening, inasmuch as they were almost a repetition of those of the previous night.  Mrs. Strong received me kindly in her faded fashion, and, after a few inquiries about the trial, sought refuge in her favourite topic of the lost Tribes.  Indeed, I remember that she was rather put out because I had not already mastered the books and pamphlets which she had given me.  In the end, notwithstanding the weariness of her feeble folly, I returned home in much better spirits.

For the next month or two nothing of note happened to me, except indeed that the action for damages brought against me by Sir Thomas Colford was suddenly withdrawn.  Although it never transpired publicly, I believe that the true reason of this collapse was that Sir John Bell flatly refused to appear in court and submit himself to further examination, and without Sir John Bell there was no evidence against me.  But the withdrawal of this action did not help me professionally; indeed the fine practice which I was beginning to get together had entirely vanished away.  Not a creature came near my consulting-room, and scarcely a creature called me in.  The prosecution and the verdict of the jury, amounting as it did to one of “not proven” only, had ruined me.  By now my small resources were almost exhausted, and I could see that very shortly the time would come when I should no longer know where to turn for bread for myself and my child.

One morning as I was sitting in my consulting-room, moodily reading a medical textbook for want of something else to do, the front door bell rang.  “A patient at last,” I thought to myself with a glow of hope.  I was soon undeceived, however, for the servant opened the door and announced Mr. Stephen Strong.

“How do you do, doctor?” he said briskly.  “You will wonder why I am here at such an hour.  Well, it is on business.  I want you to come with me to see two sick children.”

“Certainly,” I said, and we started.

“Who are the children and what is the matter with them?” I asked presently.

“Son and daughter of a working boot-maker named Samuels.  As to what is the matter with them, you can judge of that for yourself,” he replied with a grim smile.