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The Ball and the Cross

indifferently. “I do not regard either of your cases as incurable.”

And with that the man of the world was struck dumb, and, as in all intolerable moments, the word was with the unworldly.

MacIan took one stride to the table, leant across it, and said: “We can’t stop here, we’re not mad people!”

“We don’t use the crude phrase,” said the doctor, smiling at his patent-leather boots.

“But you can’t think us mad,” thundered MacIan. “You never saw us before. You know nothing about us. You haven’t even examined us.”

The doctor threw back his head and beard. “Oh, yes,” he said, “very thoroughly.”

“But you can’t shut a man up on your mere impressions without documents or certificates or anything?”

The doctor got languidly to his feet. “Quite so,” he said. “You certainly ought to see the documents.”

He went across to the curious mock bookshelves and took down one of the flat mahogany cases. This he opened with a curious key at his watch-chain, and laying back a flap revealed a