The Four Corners of the World by A.E.W. Mason

Author:A.E.W. Mason [Mason, A.E.W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B07B675SH6
Goodreads: 23465340
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The Brown Book

A few friends of Murgatroyd, the physician, sat about his dinner-table, discussing that perplexing question, “How much of the truth should a doctor tell?” In the middle of the discussion a quiet voice spoke up from a corner, and all turned towards a middleaged man of European reputation who sat fingering the stem of his wineglass.

“It is dangerous to lay down a general rule,” said Sir James Kelsey. “But I should say, if you want to keep a secret tell half the truth. People accept it and pass on to their own affairs.” He hesitated for a moment and continued, rather slowly: “I am thinking of a tremendous secret which has been kept that way for a good number of years. I call it the story of the Brown Book.”

At once the discussion ceased. It was so seldom that Kelsey indulged in anything like a confidence. Now on this one evening amongst his brethren it seemed that he was in the mood to talk.

“All of you will remember the name of John Rymer, and some of you his meteoric career and the tragic circumstances of his death. There was no doubt that he was a master of surgery. Yet at the age of thirty-seven, at eleven o’clock on a July morning, after performing three operations with all his accustomed skill, he walked into his consulting-room and blew his brains out.”

Here and there a voice was raised.

“Yes, I remember.”

“It was overwork, I think.”

Sir James Kelsey smiled.

“Exactly,” he said. “That’s the half-truth. Overwork there was. I am familiar with the details of the inquest, for I married John Rymer’s niece. It was proved, for instance, that during the last week of his life he had been curtailing his operations and spending more time over his dressings—a definite policy of his when the strain became too heavy. Moreover, there was some mention made of a sudden reasonless fear which had attacked him, a fear that his practice was dropping away, and that he would be left with a wife and young family to support, and no means to do it with. Well, we all know round this table that that particular terror is one of the commonest results of overwork. So overwork there undoubtedly was. A spell of tropical heat no doubt, too, had its effect. Anyway, here was enough for a quite acceptable verdict, and so the world thought. The usual platitudes about the tension of modern life made their appearance. The public read, accepted, and passed on to its own affairs. But behind John Rymer’s death there lay a tremendous secret.”

Once more he hesitated. Then he took a cigar from the box which his host held out to him, and said, in a kind of rush: “No one could make any use of it now. For there’s no longer any evidence but my word, and I should deny it. It’s overwork John Rymer died of. Let us not forget it.”

And then he told the story of the Brown Book. At the end of it his cigar was still alight, for he smoked while he talked.

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