He could not see the young man, but, as
luck would have it, and by one of those coincidences which are
much more common than is suspected, he saw the Gartley doctor
walking briskly past.
"Hi!" shouted the Professor, who was purple in the face and
perspiring profusely. "Hi, there, Dr. Robinson! I want you.
Come! come! hurry, man, hurry!" he ended in a testy rage, and the
doctor, knowing Braddock's eccentricities, advanced with a smile.
He was a slim, dark, young medical practitioner with an amiable
countenance, which argued of no mighty intelligence.
"Well, Professor," he remarked quietly, "do you want me to attend
you for apoplexy? Take your time, my dear sir--take your time."
He patted the scientist on the shoulder to soothe his clamorous
rage. "You are already purple in the face. Don't let your blood
rush to your head."
"Robinson, you're a--a--a fool!" shouted Braddock, glaring at
the suave looks of the doctor. "I am in perfect health, damn
you, sir."
"Then Miss Kendal--?"
"She is quite well also. But Bolton--?"
"Oh!" Robinson looked interested. "Has he returned with your
mummy?"
"Mummy," bellowed Braddock, stamping like an insane Cupid--"the
mummy hasn't arrived.
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