Part 20 (2/2)
Just as the Mayor of Gueldersdorp, that stalwart Yorks.h.i.+reman, mighty hunter of elephant, rhino, giraffe, and lion in the reckless days of bloodshed that were before the introduction of the Game Laws into South Africa, was saying to the Colonel:
”Irreclaimable, sir. Hopeless! A confirmed drunkard, who has soaked away all self-respect, who has been cautioned and warned and fined a score of times, by myself and other magistrates. Dr. de Boursy-Williams, our leading pract.i.tioner here, has taken the fellow under his wing, in a manner--bails him out when it is necessary, and, I believe, when the man is sober enough, gives him work in his dispensary and allows him to administer the anaesthetic when it's a question of a surgical operation.
Wonder he trusts him, for my part! Yet De Boursy-Williams is a remarkably successful operator, and hardly ever loses a case. It is unfortunate that he should have been called away to Cape Town at this juncture.”
”He has left Dr. Saxham as _loc.u.m tenens_, I understand.”
The Mayor shrugged his portly shoulders
”As to his qualifications, there's no doubt. Ranked high at one time as a London West End specialist. I have seen his name myself in a British Medical Directory of some years back as princ.i.p.al visiting-surgeon to St.
Stephen's and the Ludgate Hospital for Diseases of the Chest. Has written books--scientific works that are quoted now. Must have been making money hand-over-hand when the collapse came. The usual thing--one slip--and a Police-court Inquiry follows, and down goes the unlucky wretch with the Crown on top of him, and all the Press pack yelping for soft snaps. True, the finding of the Jury was 'Not Guilty,' but the fact of there having been a prosecution was enough to ruin Saxham professionally. Ah, I thought you must have heard the name!”
For the listener had moved suddenly. He did remember the name of the distinguished London pract.i.tioner who had been discreditably mixed up in the case of Mrs. Bough, the young, miserable, murdered creature, who might possibly have been the daughter of Richard Mildare. Tough and cool as his tried nerves were, he shuddered at the thought, and a sickly heat made the points of perspiration stand out upon his forehead. But the Mayor, good man, was prosing on:
”I can't say the facts of the case are very clear in my recollection, but I have a file of the _Daily Wire_ at home, extending over six years back, so the Criminal Court proceedings must be reported in it. The woman's name, I do remember, was Bough. As regards her age, now you ask me”--for the Colonel had put a quick question--”I fancy she must have been twenty-two or three. Indeed, I am almost certain that was the age as stated by the Medical Witness for the Prosecution.... However, I'll go into the reports and let you know for certain.”
”Thank you, Mr. Mayor. And, in case those _Daily Wire_ files are bomb-proof, possibly it would be better to take the family with you--and stop until times improve.”
”Not bad, not half bad, Colonel! But to tell the truth, I wouldn't miss what we used to call the s.h.i.+ndy, and these boys of yours term the 'sc.r.a.p'
for a pile of Kruger sovereigns. And--I can shoot better than most men, if I am in the sere and yellow sixties.” The Mayor was slightly ruffled; the diplomatic touch smoothed him down.
”My money is on you, Mr. Mayor, when it comes to stopping a Boer with a rifle-bullet at four hundred yards. By the way, I have a little confidence to repose in you. When you meet--as I am convinced you will meet--Dr.
Saxham at the Hospital or elsewhere, metaphorically clothed and in his right mind, and in the active discharge of duties which no man, judging by your own testimony, is better fitted to perform, let him down gently.”
The Mayor, conscious of civic dignity and magisterial warnings from the Bench ignored, swelled obviously.
”My dear sir, you can't let the Dop Doctor down anyhow. He is--just about as low as a man can get--short of being underground.”
”Lend him a hand up--in the first instance--by forgetting that confounded nickname which I was clumsy enough to blurt out just now. Be oblivious of what he is, because of what he has been in the past, and will be in the future. For there is tremendous stuff in the fellow even now--or I am a bad judge of men.”
”Colonel, you're a thundering bad judge of drunkards, from the Bench's point of view, but you'd be a d.a.m.ned good special pleader for a client in need of all the excuses that could be trumped up for him.”
”We all have something we'd like to have an excuse for, Mr. Mayor.” The keen hawk-eyes held a twinkle in reserve. ”There was a man I knew, a mighty hunter before the Lord--and before the Game Laws.” The thin brown fingers of the muscular hard-palmed hand played with the stem of a winegla.s.s as the sentences came out, crisp and pointed. ”Well, this is the story of a mistake, and an old _s.h.i.+kari_ of your experience can find even more excuses for it than I can ... but perhaps I bore you?”
”On the contrary--on the contrary, sir.”
The fish had taken the bait, remained to play the quivering captive until his last swirling struggle brought him within reach of the skilful dip and lift of the angler's net.
”It was about four years ago, in the Portuguese coast-lands, South of the Zambesi, where elephants are to be had, and rhino, particularly the Keitloa variety with the long posterior horn, and a bad habit of charging the man behind the 600 bore....”
Mr. Mayor's capacious white waistcoat was agitated by a subterranean chuckle. His double chin shook merrily. ”A side shot through the head--solid bullet--is the best cure for that, Colonel. But you had to wait in the high swamp-gra.s.s and keep the wind of him, and make sure of your aim.”
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