first day in camp knocked him out."

"No; Bromley is all right. You are the sick man, now."

Wingfield's white teeth gleamed in a rather haggard smile.

"I have looked over the edge, Ballard; that's the fact."

"Tell me about it--if you can."

"There isn't much to tell. We were all crowding around the electric
furnace, taking turns at the coloured-glass protected peep-hole. The
colonel had warned us about the wires, but the warning didn't cut any
figure in my case."

"You stumbled?"

The man in bed flung a swift glance across the room toward the corridor
door which Ballard had left ajar.

"Go quietly and shut that door," was his whispered command; and when
Ballard had obeyed it: "Now pull your chair closer and I'll answer your
question: No, I didn't stumble. Somebody tripped me, and in falling I
grabbed at one of the electrodes."

"I was sure of it," said Ballard, quietly. "I knew that in all human
probability you would be the next victim. That is why I persuaded
Bromley to let me take his place in the motor-car. If the car hadn't
broken down, I should have been here in time to warn you. I suppose it
isn't necessary to ask who tripped you?"

The playwright rocked his head on the pillow.

"I'm afraid not, Ballard. The man who afterward saved my life--so they
all say--was the one who stood nearest to me at the moment. The 'why' is
what is tormenting me. I'm not the Arcadia Company, or its chief
engineer, or anybody in particular in this game of 'heads I win, and
tails you lose.'"

Ballard left his chair and walked slowly to the mountain-viewing window.
When he returned to the bedside, he said: "I can help you to the 'why.'
What you said in my office to-day to three of us was overheard by a
fourth--and the fourth was Manuel. An hour or so later he came up this
way, on foot. Does that clear the horizon for you?"

"Perfectly," was the whispered response, followed by a silence heavy
with forecastings.

"Under the changed conditions, it was only fair to you to bring you your
warning, and to take off the embargo on your leaving Castle 'Cadia. Of
course, you'll get yourself recalled to New York at once?" said Ballard.

Wingfield raised himself on one elbow, and again his lips parted in the
grinning smile.

"Not in a thousand years, Ballard. I'll see this thing out now, if I get
killed regularly once a day. You say I mustn't write about it, and
that's so. I'm not a cad. But the experience is worth millions to