lways detested Tudor very thoroughly. Piers never did anything by
halves, and the doctor's undisguised criticism of him never failed to
arouse his fiercest resentment. That Tudor disliked him in return was a
fact that could scarcely escape the notice of the most careless observer.
The two were plainly antipathetic, and were scarcely civil to one another
even in public.

But that night Piers' antagonism flared to a deadly hatred. The
smouldering fire had leaped to a fierce blaze. Two nights before he had
smothered it with the exultant conviction that Tudor's chances with Avery
were practically non-existent. He had known with absolute certainty that
he was not the type of man to attract her. But to-night his mood had
changed. Whether Tudor's chances had improved or not, he scarcely stopped
to question, but that other people regarded them as possibly greater than
his own was a fact that sent the mad blood to his head. He tore back
through the winter night like a man possessed, with Ina Rose's scoffing
warning beating a devil's tattoo in his brain.

CHAPTER XVII

THE PLACE OF TORMENT

The surgery-bell pealed imperiously, and Tudor looked up from his book.
It was his custom to read far into the night, for he was a poor sleeper
and preferred a cosy fireside to his bed. But that night he was even
later than usual. Glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, he saw that
it was a quarter to two. With a shrug of the shoulders expressive rather
of weariness than indifference, he rose to answer the bell.

It pealed again before he reached the door, and the doctor frowned. He
was never very tolerant of impatience. He unfastened the bolts without
haste. The case might be urgent, but a steady hand and cool nerve were
usually even more essential than speed in his opinion. He opened the door
therefore with a certain deliberation, and faced the sharp night air with
grim resignation. "Well? Who is it? Come in!"

He expected to see some village messenger, and the sight of Piers,
stern-faced, with the fur collar of his motor-coat turned up to his ears,
was a complete surprise.

"Hullo!" he said, staring at him. "Anything wrong?"

Piers stared back with eyes of burning hostility. "I want a word with
you," he announced curtly. "Will you come out, or shall I come in?"

"You'd better come in," said Tudor, suppressing a shiver, "unless I'm
wanted up at the Abbey."

"You're not," said Piers.

He stepped into the passage, and impe