er some fact which would lead me to discern a motive
in the feigned death of Henry Courtenay. But I could only wait in
patience for the explanation. Mary's declaration that her sister
possessed no other lover besides myself reassured me. I had not
believed it of her from the first; yet it was passing strange that
such an insinuation should have fallen from the lips of a woman who
now posed as her dearest friend.

Next day, Sir Bernard came to town to see two unusual cases at the
hospital, and afterwards drove me back with him to Harley Street,
where he had an appointment with a German Princess, who had come to
London to consult him as a specialist. As usual, he made his lunch off
two ham sandwiches, which he had brought with him from Victoria
Station refreshment-room and carried in a paper bag. I suggested that
we should eat together at a restaurant; but the old man declined,
declaring that if he ate more than his usual sandwiches for luncheon
when in town he never had any appetite for dinner.

So I left him alone in his consulting-room, munching bread and ham,
and sipping his wineglassful of dry sherry.

About half-past three, just before he returned to Brighton, I saw him
again as usual to hear any instructions he wished to give, for
sometimes he saw patients once, and then left them in my hands. He
seemed wearied, and was sitting resting his brow upon his thin bony
hands. During the day he certainly had been fully occupied, and I had
noticed that of late he was unable to resist the strain as he once
could.

"Aren't you well?" I asked, when seated before him.

"Oh, yes," he answered, with a sigh. "There's not much the matter with
me. I'm tired, I suppose, that's all. The eternal chatter of those
confounded women bores me to death. They can't tell their symptoms
without going into all the details of family history and domestic
infelicity," he snapped. "They think me doctor, lawyer, and parson
rolled into one."

I laughed at his criticism. What he said was, indeed, quite true.
Women often grew confidential towards me, at my age; therefore I could
quite realize how they laid bare all their troubles to him.

"Oh, by the way!" he said, as though suddenly recollecting. "Have you
met your friend Ambler Jevons lately?"

"No," I replied. "He's been away for some weeks, I think. Why?"

"Because I saw him yesterday in King's Road. He was driving in a fly,
and had one eye bandaged up. Met with an accident, I should thi