emently, frantically, in some strange tongue. It was a language I
do not know; but I knew what I was shouting, and I know still."

He stopped. Carrick waited.

"What was it?" he asked at last.

For answer Mr. Newman raised his arms again, the hands clenched, in a
sudden and savage gesture.

"I was shouting like this," he said, and raised a voice that Carrick
did not recognize. "Crucify Him! Crucify Him!"

He dropped his arms and stood staring at Carrick; then covered his
face with his hands.

Carrick stood aghast and shaken. At last he went to his friend and
took his arm.

XIII

THE STRANGE PATIENT

There were only two arrivals by the train from London when it stopped
at the little flower-banked station of Barthiam; and Mary, who was
waiting for it, had no difficulty in deciding which of them was
Professor Fish. That great man never failed to look the part. His
tall, lean figure, stooping at the shoulders, his big, smooth-shaven
face, mildly abstracted behind his glasses, but retaining always
something of a keen and formidable character, his soft hat and great
flapping ulster, made up a noticeable personality anywhere. He seemed
alone to crowd the little platform; the small man who accompanied him
was lost in his shadow.

"Professor Fish?" accosted Mary primly, at his elbow.

He turned upon her with a movement like a swoop.

"I am Mary Pond," she explained. "My father was called away to a
case, so he sent me to meet you and bring you up to the house. I have
a fly waiting."

"Ah!" The Professor nodded and was bland. "Very good of you to take
the trouble, Miss Pond. I am much obliged." He stepped aside to let
his companion be seen. "This," he explained, "is your--er--guest."

Mary put out her hand, but the little man, who had been standing
behind the Professor, made no motion to take it. He was staring at
the planks of the platform; he lifted his eyes for an instant to
glance at her, and dropped them again at once. Mary saw a listless,
empty face, pale eyes, and pale hair, a mere effect of vacuity and
weakness. The man drooped where he stood as though he were no more
than half alive; his clothes were grotesquely ill-fitting. A little
puzzled, she looked up to the Professor, and saw that he was watching
her.

"How do you do?" she asked gently of the little man.

The Professor answered for him. "He does very well, Miss Pond," he
said robustly. "Much better than he thinks. Between ourselves,"
dropp