, Sister," I laughed. "I have no recollection of saying that, but
it is perfectly true. It seems that only this morning I regained
consciousness."

"Professor Thillot said you would. Others gave you up, but he declared
that after careful nursing your memory would regain its normal
balance."

"Who is Professor Thillot?"

"The great nerve specialist of Paris. The police engaged him to come
to see you. He was here ten days ago, and he put you under my charge."

I laughed.

"Then I am still an interesting case, Sister--eh?"

"Yes. You certainly are."

"But do tell me more of what I am in ignorance," I implored. "I want
to know how I came here--in France--when I lost all consciousness in a
house just off Park Lane, in London."

"To-morrow," she said, firmly, but kindly. She was a charming woman,
whose name she gave me as Soeur Marie.

We strolled back to the hospital, but on the way along the Quai
Duguay-Trouin--I noticed it written up--I became again confused. My
vision was not as it should have been, and my memory seemed blurred,
even of the happenings of the past hour.

My nurse chatted as we walked together through the streets, but I
know that my answers were unintelligible. I felt I was not myself. All
my senses were keen as far as I could gauge--all save that of my
memory of the past.

As I ascended through the pretty grounds of the hospital, the Sister
beside me, I felt a curious failing of my heart. I experienced a
sensation which I cannot here describe, as of one who had lost all
interest in life, and who longed for death.

There may be some among my readers who have experienced it, perhaps. I
cannot describe it; I merely explain that I felt inert, inefficient,
and bored with life.

No such feeling had ever fallen upon me before. Hitherto I had been
quick, alert, and full of the enjoyment of living. At Rivermead
Mansions Harry Hambledon and I had prided ourselves on our post-war
alertness.

Where was Harry? What was he doing? Would he be wondering why I was
absent from our riparian bachelor home?

I was reflecting upon all this when suddenly, without any apparent
cause, I once more lost consciousness. We were at that moment entering
the door of the hospital and the Sister had just exclaimed:

"Now, do remain quite quiet and not worry over the past. It will all
be right to-morrow," she urged.

I know not what words I uttered in reply. A curious sense of
oppression had fallen upon me, a hot, bu