is teeth were tightly clenched, and the rigid
muscles around the mouth distorted the natural expression of his face.
Every few seconds a prolonged groan escaped him. His fine eyes rolled
piteously. Anon, he would press both hands upon his abdomen and shiver
in every limb in the intensity of his suffering.

Fisher forgot his explanations. Had he been a Doctor Professor in
fact, he could not have watched the symptoms of the Baron's malady
with greater interest.

"Can Monsieur preserve him?" whispered the terrified Auguste.

"Perhaps," said Monsieur, dryly.

Fisher scribbled a note to his wife on the back of a card and
dispatched it in the care of the hotel porter. That functionary
returned with great promptness, bringing a black bottle and a glass.
The bottle had come in Fisher's trunk to Baden all the way from
Liverpool, had crossed the sea to Liverpool from New York, and had
journeyed to New York direct from Bourbon County, Kentucky. Fisher
seized it eagerly but reverently, and held it up against the light.
There were still three inches or three inches and a half in the
bottom. He uttered a grunt of pleasure.

"There is some hope of saving the Baron," he remarked to Auguste.

Fully one-half of the precious liquid was poured into the glass and
administered without delay to the groaning, writhing patient. In a few
minutes Fisher had the satisfaction of seeing the Baron sit up in bed.
The muscles around his mouth relaxed, and the agonized expression was
superseded by a look of placid contentment.

Fisher now had an opportunity to observe the personal characteristics
of the Russian Baron. He was a young man of about thirty-five, with
exceedingly handsome and clear-cut features, but a peculiar head. The
peculiarity of his head was that it seemed to be perfectly round on
top--that is, its diameter from ear to ear appeared quite equal to its
anterior and posterior diameter. The curious effect of this unusual
conformation was rendered more striking by the absence of all hair.
There was nothing on the Baron's head but a tightly fitting skull cap
of black silk. A very deceptive wig hung upon one of the bed posts.

Being sufficiently recovered to recognize the presence of a stranger,
Savitch made a courteous bow.

"How do you find yourself now?" inquired Fisher, in bad French.

"Very much better, thanks to Monsieur," replied the Baron, in
excellent English, spoken in a charming voice. "Very much better,
though I feel a