Frankly, when I left last night, or rather this
morning, I didn't expect to see the Prince alive again - let alone
conscious, and able to talk. According to all the rules of the game,
he ought to get over the shock to the system with perfect ease and
certainty. But I don't think he will. I don't think he wants to. And
moreover, I think he is still under the influence of suicidal mania.
If he had a razor he would cut his throat. You must keep his
strength up. Inject, if necessary. I will come in this afternoon. I am
due now at St James's Palace.' And the specialist hurried away,
with an elaborate bow and a few hasty words of polite
reassurances to Prince Aribert.
When he had gone Prince Aribert took the other doctor aside.
'Forget everything, doctor,' he said, 'except that I am one man and
you are another, and tell me the truth. Shall you be able to save his
Highness? Tell me the truth.'
'There is no truth,' was the doctor's reply. 'The future is not in our
hands, Prince.'
'But you are hopeful? Yes or no.'
The doctor looked at Prince Aribert. 'No!' he said shortly. 'I am not.
I am never hopeful when the patient is not on my side.'
'You mean - ?'
'I mean that his Royal Highness has no desire to live. You must
have observed that.'
'Only too well,' said Aribert.
'And you are aware of the cause?'
Aribert nodded an affirmative.
'But cannot remove it?'
'No,' said Aribert.
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