‘IT grips me,’ Scobie said, ‘like a vice.’

     ‘And what do you do then?’

     ‘Why nothing. I stay as still as I can until the pain goes.’

     ‘How long does it last?’

     ‘It’s difficult to tell, but I don’t think more than a minute.’

     The stethoscope followed like a ritual. Indeed there was something clerical in all that Dr Travis did: an earnestness, almost a reverence. Perhaps because he was young he treated the body with great respect; when he rapped the chest he did it slowly, carefully, with his ear bowed close as though he really expected somebody or something to rap back. Latin words came softly on to his tongue as though in the Mass - sternum instead of pacem.

     ‘And then,’ Scobie said, ‘there’s the sleeplessness.’

     The young man sat back behind his desk and tapped with an indelible pencil; there was a mauve smear at the corner of his mouth which seemed to indicate that sometimes - off guard - he sucked it. ‘That’s probably nerves,’ Dr Travis said, ‘apprehension of pain. Unimportant.’

     ‘It’s important to me. Can’t you give me something to take? I’m all right when once I get to sleep, but I lie awake for hours, waiting ... Sometimes I’m hardly fit for work. And a policeman, you know, needs his wits.’

     ‘Of course,’ Dr Travis said. ‘I’ll soon settle you. Evipan’s the stuff for you.’ It was as easy as all that. ‘Now for the pain -’ he began his tap, tap, tap, with the pencil. He said, ‘It’s impossible to be certain, of course .... I want you to note carefully the circumstances of every attack... what seems to bring it on. Then it will be quite possible to regulate it, avoid it almost entirely.’

     ‘But what’s wrong?’

     Dr Travis said, ‘There are some words that always shock the layman. I wish we could call cancer by a symbol like H2O. People wouldn’t be nearly so disturbed. It’s the same with the world angina.’

     ‘You think it’s angina?’

     ‘It has all the characteristics. But men live for years with angina - even work in reason. We have to see exactly how much you can do.’

     ‘Should I tell my wife?’

     ‘There’s no point in not telling her. I’m afraid this might mean - retirement.’

     ‘Is that all?’

     ‘You may die of a lot of things before angina gets you -given care.’

     ‘On the other hand I suppose it could happen any day?’

     ‘I can’t guarantee anything, Major Scobie. I’m not even absolutely satisfied that this is angina.’

     ‘I’ll speak to the Commissioner then on the quiet. I don’t want to alarm my wife until we are certain.’

     ‘If I were you, I’d tell her what I’ve said. It will prepare her. But tell her you may live for years with care.’

     ‘And the sleeplessness?’

     ‘This will make you sleep.’

     Sitting in the car with the little package on the seat beside him, he thought, I have only now to choose the date. He didn’t start his car for quite a while; he was touched by a feeling of awe as if he had in fact been given his death sentence by the doctor. His eyes dwelt on the neat blob of sealing-wax like a dried wound. He thought, I have still got to be careful, so careful. If possible no one must even suspect. It was not only the question of his life insurance: the happiness of others had to be protected. It was not so easy to forget a suicide as a middle-aged man’s death from angina.

     He unsealed the package and studied the directions. He had no knowledge of what a fatal dose might be, but surely if he took ten times the correct amount he would be safe. That meant every night for nine nights removing a dose and keeping it secretly for use on the tenth night. More evidence must be invented in his diary which had to be written right up to the end - November 12. He must make engagements for the following week. In his behaviour there must be no hint of farewells. This was the worst crime a Catholic could commit -it must be a perfect one.

     First the Commissioner... He drove down towards the police station and stopped his car outside the church. The solemnity of the crime ............