I don’t say run-down, for that you’re not. You’re stale in mind. You want a holiday.’

‘I don’t. I may need one, but I don’t want it. That’s precisely the trouble. I used to be a glutton for holidays, and spent my leisure moments during term planning what I was going to do. Now there seems to be nothing in the world I want to do – neither work nor play.’

‘Try fishing. You used to be keen.’

‘I’ve killed all the salmon I mean to kill. I never want to look the ugly brutes in the face again.’

‘Shooting?’

‘Too easy and too dull.’

‘A yacht.’

‘Stop it, old fellow. Your catalogue of undesired delights only makes it worse. I tell you that there’s nothing at this moment which has the slightest charm for me. I’m bored with my work, and I can’t think of anything else of any kind for which I would cross the street. I don’t even want to go into the country and sleep. It’s been coming on for a long time – I daresay it’s due somehow to the war – but when I was in office I did not feel it so badly, for I was in a service and not my own master. Now I’ve nothing to do except to earn an enormous income, which I haven’t any need for. Work comes rolling in – I’ve got retainers for nearly every solvent concern in this land – and all that happens is that I want to strangle my clerk and a few eminent solicitors. I don’t care a tinker’s curse for success, and what is worse, I’m just as apathetic about the modest pleasures which used to enliven my life.’

‘You may be more tired than you think.’

‘I’m not tired at all.’ The speaker rose from his chair yawning, and walked to the windows to stare into the airless street. He did not look tired, for his movements were vigorous, and, though his face had the slight pallor of his profession, his eye was clear and steady. He turned round suddenly.

‘I tell you what I’ve got. It’s what the Middle Ages suffered from – I read a book about it the other day – and its called taedium vitae. It’s a special kind of ennui. I can diagnose my ailment well enough, and Shakespeare has the words for it. I’ve come to a pitch where I find “nothing left remarkable beneath the visiting moon”.’

‘Then why do you come to me, if the trouble is not with your body?’

‘Because you’re you. I should come to you just the same if you were a vet, or a bone-setter, or a Christian Scientist. I want your advice, not as a fashionable consultant, but as an old friend and a wise man. It’s a state of affairs that can’t go on. What am I to do to get rid of this infernal disillusionment? I can’t go through the rest of my life dragging my wing.’

The doctor was smiling.

‘If you ask my professional advice,’ he said, ‘I am bound to tell you that medical science has no suggestion to offer. If you consult me as a friend, I advise you to steal a horse in some part of the world where a horse-thief is usually hanged.’

The other considered. ‘Pretty drastic prescription for a man who has been a Law Officer of the Crown.’

‘I speak figuratively. You’ve got to rediscover the comforts of your life by losing them for a little.