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Page 5
He laughed a little cynically as he laid his letters down on
his desk and proceeded to open them--in which occupation he
was presently interrupted by the opening of the side-door and
the entrance of Mr. Pemberton Bryce.
CHAPTER II
MAKING AN ENEMY
It was characteristic of Pemberton Bryce that he always walked
into a room as if its occupant were asleep and he was afraid
of waking him. He had a gentle step which was soft without
being stealthy, and quiet movements which brought him suddenly
to anybody's side before his presence was noticed. He was by
Ransford's desk ere Ransford knew he was in the surgery--and
Ransford's sudden realization of his presence roused a certain
feeling of irritation in his mind, which he instantly
endeavoured to suppress--it was no use getting cross with a
man of whom you were about to rid yourself, he said to
himself. And for the moment, after replying to his
assistant's greeting--a greeting as quiet as his entrance--he
went on reading his letters, and Bryce turned off to that part
of the surgery in which the drugs were kept, and busied
himself in making up some prescription. Ten minutes went by
in silence; then Ransford pushed his correspondence aside,
laid a paper-weight on it, and twisting his chair round,
looked at the man to whom he was going to say some unpleasant
things. Within himself he was revolving a question--how would
Bryce take it?
He had never liked this assistant of his, although he had then
had him in employment for nearly two years. There was
something about Pemberton Bryce which he did not understand
and could not fathom. He had come to him with excellent
testimonials and good recommendations; he was well up to his
work, successful with patients, thoroughly capable as a
general practitioner--there was no fault to be found with him
on any professional grounds. But to Ransford his personality
was objectionable--why, he was not quite sure. Outwardly,
Bryce was rather more than presentable--a tall, good-looking
man of twenty-eight or thirty, whom some people--women
especially--would call handsome; he was the sort of young man
who knows the value of good clothes and a smart appearance,
and his professional manner was all that could be desired.
But Ransford could not help distinguishing between Bryce the
doctor and Bryce the man--and Bryce the man he did not like.
Outside the professional part of him, Bryce seemed to him to
be undoubtedly deep, sly, cunning--he conveyed the impression
of being one of those men whose ears are always on the
stretch, who take everything in and give little out. There
was a curious air of watchfulness and of secrecy about him in
private matters which was as repellent--to Ransford's
thinking--as it was hard to explain. Anyway, in private
affairs, he did not like his assistant, and he liked him less
than ever as he glanced at him on this particular occasion.
"I want a word with you," he said curtly. "I'd better say it
now."
Bryce, who was slowly pouring some liquid from one bottle into
another, looked quietly across the room and did not interrupt
himself in his work. Ransford knew that he must have
recognized a certain significance in the words just addressed
to him--but he showed no outward sign of it, and the liquid
went on trickling from one bottle to the other with the same
uniform steadiness.
"Yes?" said Bryce inquiringly. "One moment."
He finished his task calmly, put the corks in the bottles,
labelled one, restored the other to a shelf, and turned round.
Not a man to be easily startled--not easily turned from a
purpose, this, thought Ransford as he glanced at Bryce's eyes,
which had a trick of fastening their gaze on people with an
odd, disconcerting persistency.
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