It was strange that
he had never seen this before.
"You won't object, of course, if we ask you to consult another doctor?"
he continued.
At this the little man became openly incensed.
"Ah!" he cried. "You have not confidence in me? You object to my
treatment? You wish me to give up the case?"
"Not at all," Terence replied, "but in serious illness of this kind--"
Rodriguez shrugged his shoulders.
"It is not serious, I assure you. You are overanxious. The young lady is
not seriously ill, and I am a doctor. The lady of course is frightened,"
he sneered. "I understand that perfectly."
"The name and address of the doctor is--?" Terence continued.
"There is no other doctor," Rodriguez replied sullenly. "Every one has
confidence in me. Look! I will show you."
He took out a packet of old letters and began turning them over as if in
search of one that would confute Terence's suspicions. As he searched,
he began to tell a story about an English lord who had trusted him--a
great English lord, whose name he had, unfortunately, forgotten.
"There is no other doctor in the place," he concluded, still turning
over the letters.
"Never mind," said Terence shortly. "I will make enquiries for myself."
Rodriguez put the letters back in his pocket.
"Very well," he remarked. "I have no objection."
He lifted his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, as if to repeat that
they took the illness much too seriously and that there was no other
doctor, and slipped out, leaving behind him an impression that he was
conscious that he was distrusted, and that his malice was aroused.
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