Francis, drawing a hard
deep breath. "I've had another of those cursed attacks."

Dr. Heath arose and went slowly toward a cabinet, slowly unlocked it and
then turned and surveyed his patient.

"Another attack," he said somewhat severely, "the second one in three
days, and not a light one, if I can judge. Let me tell you, Lamotte, you
must not have a third of these attacks for some time to come."

[Illustration: "You must not have a third attack."]

"I won't," replied Lamotte, with a nervous laugh. "This one has done me
up; I feel weak as a kitten, meek as a lamb."

"Humph," this from Doctor Heath, who proceeded to drop into a druggist's
glass, sundry globules of dark liquid, which he qualified with other
globules from another bottle, and then half filling the glass with some
pale brandy, handed it to Lamotte who drained it off eagerly.

"Physician, heal thyself," quoted Raymond Vandyck, watching the patient
with some interest. "Why don't you do your own dosing, Lamotte?"

"I'm shaky," replied Lamotte, lifting an unsteady hand. "And then we are
advised to have faith in our physician. I should swallow my own mixture
with fear and trembling."

"And pour it down your neighbor's throat with entire satisfaction,"
interpolated Doctor Heath.

"Precisely, just as you pour this stuff down mine. Thanks, Heath,"
handing back the glass. "Now then, we are all friends here, and you two
know what I wish to learn. Heath," shading his eyes with his hand as he
reclined on the settee. "I came back, from a two day's tramp about the
country in search of Miss Wardour's robbers, or of traces of them, this
morning. Let that pass. I called at Wardour Place first of all, have
just come from there in fact--and Constance tells me--"

He paused as if struggling with some emotion, and Ray Vandyck stirred
uneasily, flushed slightly, and partially turned away his face. Only
Clifford Heath retained his stoical calm.

"Well!" he said coolly, "Miss Wardour tells you--what?"

"That my sister has run--away."

"Oh! Well, Lamotte, I am glad you know it. It's a hard story to tell a
friend."

"So thought Constance, and she would give me no particulars, she told
me," letting his hand fall from before his face, "to come to you."

"And why to me?" coldly.

"She said that you knew the particulars--that you brought her the news."

"True; I did. Still it's a hard story to tell, Lamotte."

"And no one will tell it more kindly, I know. Say on, He