“You’re right,” cried Banks, “you’re right. You can’t heal a dog-bite without a cautery.” She produced this professional analogy so slickly that Nigel guessed it was a standardised argument. “All the same,” added Banks with a slight change of voice, “I don’t believe anyone could, if they would, claim the honour of striking this blow for freedom. It was an accident—a glorious accident.”

Her hands trembled and the knitting-needles chattered together. Her eyes were wide open and the pupils dilated.

“Why, she’s demented,” thought Angela in alarm.

“Hyoscine,” murmured Nigel. “Wasn’t that the drug Crippen used?”

“I believe it was,” said Angela. “Isn’t that the same as Twilight Sleep?”

She paused hopefully. Banks made no answer. A young man came and sat in front of them. He looked intelligent and would have been rather a handsome fellow if his blond curls had been shorter and his teeth less aggressively false.

“I don’t know,” said Nigel; “I’m no chemist. Oh! Talking of chemists, we must see if we can find that chap Harold Sage here. I’d like to meet him.”

“Well, it’s so difficult. They never said what he was like. Perhaps—er—” Angela turned towards Miss Banks. “Perhaps you could help us. There’s a gentleman here who knows a friend of ours.” She wondered if this was risky. “His name’s Harold Sage. He’s a chemist, and we thought if we could see him—”

The young man with the blond curls turned round and flashed a golden smile at her.

“Pardon,” he fluted throatily. “That won’t be very difficult. May neem’s Hawrold Seege.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Surprising Antics of a Chemist

Tuesday to Wednesday. The small hours.

TO SAY THAT NIGEL and Angela were flabbergasted by this announcement is to give not the slightest indication of their derangement. Their mouths fell open and their eyes protruded. Their stomachs, as the saying is, turned over. Mr. Sage continued the while to smile falsely upon them. It seemed as if they took at least three minutes to recover. Actually about five seconds elapsed before Angela, in a small voice that she did not recognise, said:

“Oh—fancy! What fun!”

“Oh,” echoed Nigel, “fancy! What luck! Yes.”

“Yes,” said Angela.

“I thought I heard someone taking my name in vain,” continued Mr. Sage playfully. It would be tedious to attempt a phonetic reproduction of Mr. Sage’s utterances. Enough to say that they were genteel to a fantastic degree. “Aye thot Aye heeard somewon teeking may neem in veen,” may give some idea of his rendering of the above sentence. Let it go at that.

“I was just going to make you known to each other,” said Nurse Banks. So great was their dilemma they had actually forgotten Nurse Banks.

Mr. Sage cast a peculiar reluctant glance upon her and then turned to his quarry. “And who,” he asked gaily, “is the mutual friend?”