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Page 27
"What is the case?" he asked.
"Oh, it is so sad a one! So sad a one! You have not, perhaps
heard of the daggers of the Almohades?"
"Never."
"Ah, they are Eastern daggers of a great age and of a singular
shape, with the hilt like what you call a stirrup. I am a
curiosity dealer, you understand, and that is why I have come to
England from Smyrna, but next week I go back once more. Many
things I brought with me, and I have a few things left, but among
them, to my sorrow, is one of these daggers."
"You will remember that I have an appointment, sir," said the
surgeon, with some irritation; "pray confine yourself to the
necessary details."
"You will see that it is necessary. Today my wife fell down in
a faint in the room in which I keep my wares, and she cut her lower
lip upon this cursed dagger of Almohades."
"I see," said Douglas Stone, rising. "And you wish me to dress
the wound?"
"No, no, it is worse than that."
"What then?"
"These daggers are poisoned."
"Poisoned!"
"Yes, and there is no man, East or West, who can tell now what
is the poison or what the cure. But all that is known I know, for
my father was in this trade before me, and we have had much to do
with these poisoned weapons."
"What are the symptoms?"
"Deep sleep, and death in thirty hours."
"And you say there is no cure. Why then should you pay me this
considerable fee?"
"No drug can cure, but the knife may."
"And how?"
"The poison is slow of absorption. It remains for hours in the
wound."
"Washing, then, might cleanse it?"
"No more than in a snake bite. It is too subtle and too
deadly."
"Excision of the wound, then?"
"That is it. If it be on the finger, take the finger off. So
said my father always. But think of where this wound is, and that
it is my wife. It is dreadful!"
But familiarity with such grim matters may take the finer edge
from a man's sympathy. To Douglas Stone this was already an
interesting case, and he brushed aside as irrelevant the feeble
objections of the husband.
"It appears to be that or nothing," said he brusquely. "It is
better to lose a lip than a life."
"Ah, yes, I know that you are right. Well, well, it is kismet,
and it must be faced. I have the cab, and you will come with me
and do this thing."
Douglas Stone took his case of bistouries from a drawer, and
placed it with a roll of bandage and a compress of lint in his
pocket. He must waste no more time if he were to see Lady Sannox.
"I am ready," said he, pulling on his overcoat. "Will you take
a glass of wine before you go out into this cold air?"
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