Thirteen

I
Dr. Metcalf was one of the best-known physicians in Danemouth. He hadno aggressive bedside manner, but his presence in the sick room had aninvariably cheering effect. He was middle- aged, with a quiet pleasantvoice.

He listened carefully to Superintendent Harper and replied to his ques-tions with gentle precision.

Harper said:

“Then I can take it, Doctor Metcalf, that what I was told by Mrs. Jeffer-son was substantially correct?”

“Yes, Mr. Jefferson’s health is in a precarious state. For several yearsnow the man has been driving himself ruthlessly. In his determination tolive like other men, he has lived at a far greater pace than the normal manof his age. He has refused to rest, to take things easy, to go slow—or any ofthe other phrases with which I and his other medical advisers havetendered our opinion. The result is that the man is an overworked engine.

Heart, lungs, blood pressure—they’re all overstrained.”

“You say Mr. Jefferson has absolutely refused to listen?”

“Yes. I don’t know that I blame him. It’s not what I say to my patients,Superintendent, but a man may as well wear out as rust out. A lot of mycolleagues do that, and take it from me it’s not a bad way. In a place likeDanemouth one sees most of the other thing: invalids clinging to life, terri-fied of over-exerting themselves, terrified of a breath of draughty air, of astray germ, of an injudicious meal!”

“I expect that’s true enough,” said Superintendent Harper. “What itamounts to, then, is this: Conway Jefferson is strong enough, physicallyspeaking—or, I suppose I mean, muscularly speaking. Just what can he doin the active line, by the way?”

“He has immense strength in his arms and shoulders. He was a power-ful man before his accident. He is extremely dexterous in his handling ofhis wheeled chair, and with the aid of crutches he can move himself abouta room—from his bed to the chair, for instance.”

“Isn’t it possible for a man injured as Mr. Jefferson was to have artificiallegs?”

“Not in his case. There was a spine injury.”

“I see. Let me sum up again. Jefferson is strong and fit in the muscularsense. He feels well and all that?”

Metcalf nodded.

“But his heart is in a bad condition. Any overstrain or exertion, or ashock or a sudden fright, and he might pop off. Is that it?”

“More or less. Over-exertion is killing him slowly, because he won’t givein when he feels tired. That aggravates the cardiac condition. It is unlikelythat exertion would kill him suddenly. But a sudden shock or fright mighteasily do so. That is why I expressly warned his family.”

Superintendent Harper said slowly:

“But in actual fact a shock didn’t kill him. I mean, doctor, that therecouldn’t have been a much worse shock than this business, and he’s stillalive?”

Dr. Metcalf shrugged his shoulders.

“I know. But if you’d had my experience, Superintendent, you’d knowthat case history shows the impossibility of prognosticating accurately.

People who ought to die of shock and exposure don’t die of shock and ex-posure, etc., etc. The human frame is tougher than one can imagine pos-sible. Moreover, in my experience, a physical shock is more often fatalthan a mental shock. In plain language, a door banging suddenly would bemore likely to kill Mr. Jefferson than the discovery that a girl he was fondof had died in a particularly horrible manner.”

“Why is that, I wonder?”

“The breaking of a piece of bad news nearly always sets up a defence re-action. It numbs the recipient. They are unable—at first—to take it in. Fullrealization takes a little time. But the banged door, someone jumping outof a cupboard, the sudden onslaught of a motor as you cross a road—allthose things are immediate in their action. The heart gives a terrified leap—to put it in layman’s language.”

Superintendent Harper said slowly:

“But as far as anyone would know, Mr. Jefferson’s death might easilyhave been caused by the shock of the girl’s death?”

“Oh, easily.” The doctor looked curiously at the other. “You don’t think—”

“I don’t know what I think,” said Superintendent Harper vexedly.