, have
declared to be a doctor in moderate practice--pushed open the swing
doors of the restaurant and made his way to the desk. He was of medium
height; he wore a frock-coat--a little frayed; gray trousers which had
not been recently pressed; and thick boots.

"I understand that one of your waiters requires my attendance," he
said, in a tone not unduly raised but still fairly audible. "I am Dr.
Gilette."

"Dr. Gilette," Antoine repeated, slowly.

"And number Double-Four," the doctor murmured.

Antoine descended from his desk.

"But certainly, Monsieur!" he said. "The poor fellow declares that he
suffers. If he is really ill, he must go. It sounds brutal, but what can
one do? We have so few rooms here, and so much business. Monsieur will
come this way?"

Antoine led the way from the cafe into a very smelly region of narrow
passages and steep stairs.

"It is to be arranged?" Antoine whispered, as they ascended.

"Without a doubt," the doctor answered. "Were there spies in the cafe?"

"Two," Antoine answered.

The doctor nodded, and said no more. He mounted to the third story.
Antoine led him through a small sitting-room and knocked four times
upon the door of an inner room. It suddenly was opened. A man--unshaven,
terrified, with that nameless fear in his face which one sees reflected
in the expression of some trapped animal--stood there looking out at
them.

"'Double-Four'!" the doctor said, softly. "Go back into the room,
please. Antoine will kindly leave us."

"Who are you?" the man gasped.

"'Double-Four'!" the doctor answered. "Obey me, and be quick for your
life! Strip!"

The man obeyed.

Barely twenty minutes later, the doctor--still carrying his
bag--descended the stairs. He entered the cafe from a somewhat remote
door. Antoine hurried to meet him, and walked by his side through the
place. He asked many questions, but the doctor contented himself with
shaking his head. Almost in silence he left Antoine, who conducted him
even to the door of his motor. The proprietor of the cafe watched the
brougham disappear, and then returned to his desk, sighing heavily.

A man who had been sipping a liqueur dose at hand, laid down his paper.

"One of your waiters ill, did I understand?" he asked. Monsieur Antoine
was at once eloquent. It was the ill-fortune which had dogged him
for the last four months! The man had been taken ill there in the
restaurant. He was a Gascon--spoke no English--and had just