Then he paused, and a troubled look overspread his face.
"The fact is," he began awkwardly, "I only keep my diary in it, and as it is entirely, almost entirely, about my cases it may be awkward, that is, I mean.

.

." He stopped, and I tried to help him out of his embarrassment.
"You helped to attend dear Lucy at the end.

Let me hear how she died, for all that I know of her, I shall be very grateful.

She was very, very dear to me." To my surprise, he answered, with a horrorstruck look in his face, "Tell you of her death?
Not for the wide world!" "Why not ?" I asked, for some grave, terrible feeling was coming over me.
Again he paused, and I could see that he was trying to invent an excuse.