spell in India.
He had a monocle, too, which he stuck in his eye, and every trace of
the American had gone out of his speech.

'My hat! Mr Scudder--' I stammered.

'Not Mr Scudder,' he corrected; 'Captain Theophilus Digby, of the 40th
Gurkhas, presently home on leave. I'll thank you to remember that,
Sir.'

I made him up a bed in my smoking-room and sought my own couch, more
cheerful than I had been for the past month. Things did happen
occasionally, even in this God-forgotten metropolis.

I woke next morning to hear my man, Paddock, making the deuce of a row
at the smoking-room door. Paddock was a fellow I had done a good turn
to out on the Selakwe, and I had inspanned him as my servant as soon as
I got to England. He had about as much gift of the gab as a
hippopotamus, and was not a great hand at valeting, but I knew I could
count on his loyalty.

'Stop that row, Paddock,' I said. 'There's a friend of mine,
Captain--Captain' (I couldn't remember the name) 'dossing down in
there. Get breakfast for two and then come and speak to me.'

I told Paddock a fine story about how my friend was a great swell, with
his nerves pretty bad from overwork, who wanted absolute rest and
stillness. Nobody had got to know he was here, or he would be besieged
by communications from the India Office and the Prime Minister and his
cure would be ruined. I am bound to say Scudder played up splendidly
when he came to breakfast. He fixed Paddock with his eyeglass, just
like a British officer, asked him about the Boer War, and slung out at
me a lot of stuff about imaginary pals. Paddock couldn't learn to call
me 'Sir', but he 'sirred' Scudder as if his life depended on it.

I left him with the newspaper and a box of cigars, and went down to the
City till luncheon. When I got back the lift-man had an important face.

'Nawsty business 'ere this morning, Sir. Gent in No. 15 been and shot
'isself. They've just took 'im to the mortiary. The police are up
there now.'

I ascended to No. 15, and found a couple of bobbies and an inspector
busy making an examination. I asked a few idiotic questions, and they
soon kicked me out. Then I found the man that had valeted Scudder, and
pumped him, but I could see he suspected nothing. He was a whining
fellow with a churchyard face, and half-a-crown went far to console him.

I attended the inquest next day. A partner of some publishing firm
gave evidence that the deceased had broug