om I once attended."

"And had you written it recently?"

"No; some years ago. But I had recently added to it. I may say that it
was my purpose still further to add to it, and with this object I had
actually unlocked the bureau."

"New facts respecting this patient had come into your possession?"

"They had."

"Before the date of the attack upon you?"

"Before that date, yes."

"And before surveillance of your movements began?"

"I believe so."

"May I suggest that your patient and the 'well-known man' to whom you
referred are one and the same?"

"It is not so, Mr. Harley," returned Sir Charles in a tired voice.
"Nothing so simple. I realize more than ever that I must arrange my
facts in some sort of historical order. Therefore I ask you again: will
you dine with me to-night?"

"With pleasure," replied Harley, promptly. "I have no other engagement."

That his ready acceptance had immensely relieved the troubled mind of
Sir Charles was evident enough. His visitor stood up. "I am not prone to
sickly fancies, Mr. Harley," he said. "But a conviction has been growing
upon me for some time that I have incurred, how I cannot imagine, but
that nevertheless I have incurred powerful enmity. I trust our evening's
counsel may enable you, with your highly specialized faculties, to
detect an explanation."

And it was instructive to note how fluently he spoke now that he found
himself temporarily relieved of the necessity of confessing the source
of his mysterious fears.

CHAPTER II. THE SIXTH SENSE

Paul Harley stepped into his car in Chancery Lane. "Drive in the
direction of Hyde Park Corner," he directed the chauffeur. "Go along the
Strand."

Glancing neither right nor left, he entered the car, and presently they
were proceeding slowly with the stream of traffic in the Strand. "Pull
up at the Savoy," he said suddenly through the tube.

The car slowed down in that little bay which contains the entrance to
the hotel, and Harley stared fixedly out of the rear window, observing
the occupants of all other cars and cabs which were following. For three
minutes or more he remained there watching. "Go on," he directed.

Again they proceeded westward and, half-way along Piccadilly, "Stop at
the Ritz," came the order.

The car pulled up before the colonnade and Harley, stepping out,
dismissed the man and entered the hotel, walked through to the side
entrance, and directed a porter to get him a taxicab. In this he