my word of honour, was how the plague originated here. Oh, Sir Edward,
you cannot realise what agonies I have suffered since I became possessed
of this terrible knowledge!"

A short silence followed, during which I am convinced I heard my
companion say very softly to himself, "That settles it."

Then, turning to me, he continued, "You say you were at the Duchess of
Amersham's ball the night before last? Do you mean this?"

"Of course I do," I replied. "Why, you spoke to me there yourself, and
congratulated me upon my engagement. And, now I come to think of it, I
saw you talking with Pharos there."

"Quite right," he said. "I did speak to Monsieur Pharos there. But are
you sure it was the night before last? That is what I want to get at."

"I am as sure of that as I am of anything in this world," I replied.

"What you tell me is very interesting," he said, rising from his
chair--"very interesting indeed, and I am sincerely obliged to you for
coming to me. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be going, for, as I
told you, I have a meeting of the Health Commission to attend in a few
minutes. If I were you I should go back to my house and keep quiet.
There is nothing to be gained by worrying oneself, as you have evidently
been doing."

"I can see that you do not believe what I have told you," I cried with
great bitterness. "Sir Edward, I implore you to do so. I assure you on
my honour as a gentleman, I will swear, by any oath you care to name,
that what I say is true in every particular. Pharos is still in London,
in Park Lane, and if you are quick you can capture him. But there is not
a moment to lose. For God's sake believe me before it is too late!"

"I have listened to all you have said, my dear Cyril," he answered
soothingly, "and I can quite understand that you believe it to be true.
You have been ill, and it is plain your always excitable imagination has
not yet recovered its equilibrium. Go home, as I say, and rest. Trust
me, you will soon be yourself once more. Now I must go."

"Oh, heavens! how can I convince you?" I groaned, wringing my hands. "Is
there nothing I can say or do that will make you believe my story? You
will find out when it is too late that I have told you the truth. Men
and women are dying like sheep to right and left of us, and yet the vile
author of all this sorrow and suffering will escape unpunished. Is it
any use, Sir Edward, for me to address one last appeal to you?"

Then a notion