rence to an English Egyptologist whom he met in Vienna
about a year ago. He cannot recall the Englishman's name, but there
are certain expressions in the letter which make Dr. Norbury suspect
that he is referring to John Bellingham._

"_I want you to bring Mr. and Miss Bellingham to my chambers this
evening at 8.30, to meet Dr. Norbury and talk over his letter; and in
view of the importance of the matter, I look to you not to fail me._"

A wave of hope and relief swept over me. It was still possible that
this Gordian knot might be cut; that the deliverance might come before
it was too late. I wrote a hasty note to Thorndyke and another to
Ruth, making the appointment; and having given them both to the trusty
Polton, returned somewhat feverishly to my professional duties. To my
profound relief, the influx of patients ceased, and the practise sank
into its accustomed torpor; whereby I was able without base and
mendacious subterfuge to escape in good time to my tryst.

It was near upon eight o'clock when I passed through the archway into
Nevill's Court. The warm afternoon light had died away, for the summer
was running out apace. The last red glow of the setting sun had faded
from the ancient roofs and chimney stacks, and down in the narrow court
the shades of evening had begun to gather in nooks and corners. I was
due at eight, and, as it still wanted some minutes to the hour, I
sauntered slowly down the court, looking reflectively on the familiar
scene and the well-known friendly faces.

The day's work was drawing to a close. The little shops were putting
up their shutters; lights were beginning to twinkle in parlor windows;
a solemn hymn arose in the old Moravian chapel, and its echoes stole
out through the dark entry that opens into the court under the archway.

Here was Mr. Finneymore (a man of versatile gifts, with a leaning
toward paint and varnish) sitting, white-aproned and shirt-sleeved, on
a chair in his garden, smoking his pipe with a complacent eye on his
dahlias. There at an open window a young man, with a brush in his hand
and another behind his ear, stood up and stretched himself while an
older lady deftly rolled up a large map. The barber was turning out
the gas in his little saloon; the greengrocer was emerging with a
cigarette in his mouth and an aster in his buttonhole, and a group of
children were escorting the lamplighter on his rounds.

All these good, homely folk were Nevill's Court