It is the third day of his concussion," he whispered. "He is still
unconscious. He will remain in the same condition for another two days.
After that he will begin to recover."

Mr. Fentolin touched the inspector on the arm.

"You see his clothing at the foot of the bed," he pointed out. "His
linen is marked with his name. That is his dressing-case with his name
painted on it."

"I am quite satisfied, sir," the inspector announced. "I will not
intrude any further."

They left the room. Mr. Fentolin himself escorted the inspector into the
library and ordered whisky and cigars.

"I don't know whether I am unreasonably curious," Mr. Fentolin remarked,
"but is it really true that you have had enquiries from Scotland Yard
about the poor fellow up-stairs?"

"We had a very important enquiry indeed, sir," the inspector replied.
"I have instructions to telegraph all I have been able to discover,
immediately."

"Pardon my putting it plainly," Mr. Fentolin asked, "but is our friend a
criminal?"

"I wouldn't go so far as that, sir," the inspector answered. "I know
of no charge against him. I don't know that I have the right to say so
much," he added, sipping his whisky and soda, "but putting two and two
together, I should rather come to the conclusion that he was a person of
some political importance."

"Not a criminal at all?"

"Not as I know of," the inspector assented. "That isn't the way I read
the enquiries at all."

"You relieve me," Mr. Fentolin declared. "Now what about his
possessions?"

"There's a man coming down shortly from Scotland Yard," the inspector
announced, a little gloomily. "My orders were to touch nothing, but to
locate him."

"Well, you've succeeded so far," Mr. Fentolin remarked. "Here he is,
and here I think he will stay until some days after your friend from
Scotland Yard can get here."

"It does seem so, indeed," the inspector agreed. "To me he looks
terrible ill. But there's one thing sure, he's having all the care and
attention that's possible. And now, sir, I'll not intrude further upon
your time. I'll just make my report, and you'll probably have a visit
from the Scotland Yard man sometime within the next few days."

Mr. Fentolin escorted the inspector to his dog-cart, shook hands with
him, and watched him drive off. Only Mrs. Seymour Fentolin remained upon
the terrace. He glided over to her side.

"My dear Florence," he asked, "where are the others?"

"Mr. Hamel and Esther hav