Twiddel fidgeted uncomfortably, "I--er--well, you see--ah--I haven't _quite_ made up my mind yet."
"Hang it, Welsh--er--the fact is I don't altogether like the job."
Scruples of any kind always surprised Welsh.
"Can't afford to leave the practice?" he asked with a laugh.
"That's--ah--partly the reason," replied Twiddel, uncomfortably.
"Rot, old man! There's a girl in the case. Out with it!"
"No, it isn't that. You see it's the very devil of a responsibility."
At this confession of weakness he looked guiltily at his heroic friend. From the bottom of his heart he wished he had screwed up his courage in private. Welsh had so little imagination.
"By Gad," exclaimed Welsh, "I'd manage a nunnery for £500!"
"I daresay you would, but a suicidal, and possibly homicidal, lunatic isn't a nunnery."
Welsh looked at his friend with diminished respect.
"Then you are going to chuck up £500 and a free trip on the Continent?" he said.
"Dr Watson himself admits the responsibility."
"With a--what is it?--agreeable young man?"
"Only when in possession of his proper faculties," said the doctor, dismally.
"I should have thought," said Welsh, with a laugh, "that they would only matter to himself."
"But he is homicidal too--or at least it's doubtful. I want to know a little more about that, thank you!"
"Sounds aristocratic. He might come in useful afterwards, when he's cured."
Welsh spoke with an air of reflection, which might have been entirely disinterested.
"He'd probably commit suicide first," said Twiddel, "and of course I'd get all the blame."
"Or homicide," replied Welsh, "When _he_ would."
"No, he wouldn't--that's the worst of it; I'd be blamed for having my own throat cut."
"Twiddel," said his friend, deliberately, "it seems to me you're a fool."
"I'm at least alive," cried Twiddel, warming with sympathy for himself, "which I probably wouldn't be for long in Mr Essington's company."
"I don't blame your nerves, dear boy," said Welsh, with a smile that showed all his teeth, "only your head. Here are £500 going a-begging. There must be some way----" He paused, deep in reflection. "How would it do," he remarked in a minute, "if _I_ were to go in your place?"
"No," said Welsh. "I foresee difficulties."
He fished a pipe out of his pocket, filled and lit it, and leaned back in his chair gazing at the ceiling.