“I think you are a little unjust, Miss Keeling,” said Stratford. “My objection is not that you are a woman, but that you confess you cannot be certain of the facts of the case.”
“How could any one be certain under the present circumstances, unless Fath-ud-Din had confessed openly what he had done, and contributed a specimen of the poison for analysis? You know that if Dr Headlam had been alive you would not have thought of questioning what he saw fit to do. I only ask for fair play. Chivalry I don’t expect--perhaps it is as well that I don’t under the circumstances--but I have a right to ask for the justice that would be shown to a man in my position.”
And Georgia gathered up her work and the kitten, and retired very deliberately, with the honours of war, leaving the men disinclined for further conversation. Kustendjian betook himself to his own quarters, where he was in the habit of donning a semi-oriental costume in which to take his ease after work was done; and Stratford, accompanied by Fitz, who had listened with a certain mournful pride to Georgia’s indictment of North, adjourned to the office, there to compile the regular account of the proceedings of the day. When the record was complete, and Fitz had returned to the terrace, Stratford, who had lingered to arrange the papers in the safe, was surprised by the entrance of Dick, who lounged in moodily without saying anything, and propped himself against the wall.
“Why don’t you tell me that I am a dismal fool and a howling cad?” he inquired at last.
“If you know it already, though it’s rather late in the day now, it can’t be much good my repeating the information,” said Stratford, drily.
“Oh, go on! Swear at me, call me names--anything you like! I am positively yearning for a thorough good slanging--might make me feel a little better.”
“Then I should recommend you to apply to Miss Keeling. I don’t fancy you’ll want to repeat the experience.”
“Stratford, tell me what I am to do. I can’t think what possessed me just now. Of course, it stands to reason that we couldn’t allow her to do what she wanted. If she tried her experiments, and the Chief died, she would probably let herself in for an inquiry when we got back to Khemistan. Her name would be bandied about all over the place, and every wretched native penny-a-liner in India would be cooking up articles to reflect on medical women.”