is it that you
have in your hands, Doctor? Telegrams, I think. Let me look at them."

The doctor held them out. Mr. Fentolin took them eagerly between his
thin, delicate fingers. Suddenly his face darkened, and became like the
face of a spoilt and angry child.

"Cipher!" he exclaimed furiously. "A cipher which he knows so well as to
remember it, too! Never mind, it will be easy to decode. It will amuse
me during the afternoon. Very good, Sarson. I will take charge of
these."

"You do not wish anything dispatched?"

"Nothing at present," Mr. Fentolin sighed. "It will be well, I think,
for the poor man to remain undisturbed by any communications from his
friends. Is he restless at all?"

"He wants to get on with his journey."

"We shall see," Mr. Fentolin remarked. "Now feel my pulse, Sarson. How
am I this morning?"

The doctor held the thin wrist for a moment between his fingers, and let
it go.

"In perfect health, as usual," he announced grimly.

"Ah, but you cannot be sure!" Mr. Fentolin protested. "My tongue, if you
please."

He put it out.

"Excellent!"

"We must make quite certain," Mr. Fentolin continued. "There are so
many people who would miss me. My place in the world would not be easily
filed. Undo my waistcoat, Sarson. Feel my heart, please. Feel carefully.
I can see the end of your stethoscope in your pocket. Don't scamp it.
I fancied this morning, when I was lying here alone, that there was
something almost like a palpitation--a quicker beat. Be very careful,
Sarson. Now."

The doctor made his examination with impassive face. Then he stepped
back.

"There is no change in your condition, Mr. Fentolin," he announced. "The
palpitation you spoke of is a mistake. You are in perfect health."

Mr. Fentolin sighed gently.

"Then," he said, "I will now amuse myself by a gentle ride down to the
Tower. You are entirely satisfied, Sarson? You are keeping nothing back
from me?"

The doctor looked at him with grim, impassive face. "There is nothing to
keep back," he declared. "You have the constitution of a cowboy. There
is no reason why you should not live for another thirty years."

Mr. Fentolin sighed, as though a weight had been removed from his heart.

"I will now," he decided, reaching forward for the handle of his
carriage, "go down to the Tower. It is just possible that a few days'
seclusion might be good for our guest."

The doctor turned silently away. There was no one there to see h