The Doctor closed his lips suddenly as if he had said something he had not intended to say.
“Nonsense. It’s none of my business. One has eyes and brains and one sees things, and comprehends things. I was suspicious the moment she refused to let me cut your arm off. Didn’t you suspect anything? But now I understand. Of course, of course.”
John Gal began to shake both his fists, forgetting for the moment that one of them was swollen. He groaned with pain.
“Oh, my arm, my arm! Don’t say another word, Doctor.”
“Not another word,” said the other.
A deep groan broke forth from the sick man’s chest as he clutched the Doctor’s arm with his right.
“Which Paul, Doctor? Which Paul do you mean? Who is he?” “You really mean to say you don’t know? Paul Nagy, your hired man.” The old peasant turned white. His lips were trembling and the blood rushed to his heart. His hand didn’t hurt him a bit now. He sud