"I make no apology, Mr. Blake, for the place in which I am receiving

you," he said. "It is the only room in the house, at this hour of the

day, in which we can feel quite sure of being left undisturbed. Here

are my papers ready for you; and here are two books to which we may have

occasion to refer, before we have done. Bring your chair to the table,

and we shall be able to consult them together."

I drew up to the table; and Ezra Jennings handed me his manuscript

notes. They consisted of two large folio leaves of paper. One leaf

contained writing which only covered the surface at intervals. The other

presented writing, in red and black ink, which completely filled the

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page from top to bottom. In the irritated state of my curiosity, at that

moment, I laid aside the second sheet of paper in despair.

"Have some mercy on me!" I said. "Tell me what I am to expect, before I

attempt to read this."

"Willingly, Mr. Blake! Do you mind my asking you one or two more

questions?"

"Ask me anything you like!"

He looked at me with the sad smile on his lips, and the kindly interest

in his soft brown eyes.

"You have already told me," he said, "that you have never--to your

knowledge--tasted opium in your life."

"To my knowledge," I repeated.

"You will understand directly why I speak with that reservation. Let us

go on. You are not aware of ever having taken opium. At this time,

last year, you were suffering from nervous irritation, and you slept

wretchedly at night. On the night of the birthday, however, there was an

exception to the rule--you slept soundly. Am I right, so far?"

"Quite right!"

"Can you assign any cause for the nervous suffering, and your want of

sleep?"

"I can assign no cause. Old Betteredge made a guess at the cause, I

remember. But that is hardly worth mentioning."

"Pardon me. Anything is worth mentioning in such a case as this.

Betteredge attributed your sleeplessness to something. To what?"

"To my leaving off smoking."

"Had you been an habitual smoker?"

"Yes."

"Did you leave off the habit suddenly?"

"Yes."

"Betteredge was perfectly right, Mr. Blake. When smoking is a habit

a man must have no common constitution who can leave it off suddenly

without some temporary damage to his nervous system. Your sleepless

nights are accounted for, to my mind. My next question refers to Mr.

Candy. Do you remember having entered into anything like a dispute

with him--at the birthday dinner, or afterwards--on the subject of his

profession?"




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