the first to think of such a thing.'

"'No, there is a gentleman named Nikitos,' I remarked.

"'I dare say there is,' said the doctor, 'but I never heard of him.'

"'He aspired to the hand of Miss Macedoine,' I said, 'and he accompanied
them here from the Island of Ipsilon.'

"The doctor whistled. The carriage stopped at this moment in front of an
imposing residence with gigantic iron gates shutting off a curved drive.
The doctor alighted, turned round, and regarded me with considerable
interest.

"'Well, I'm blowed,' he observed, coolly, and at once attacked the
massive gates. I watched him moving one of them very slowly and edging
through. He was a most stimulating person to be with. Vitality radiated
from him. I have no doubt he was a very successful physician. Whom he
was attending within this opulent home I never knew--perhaps another
case of illusions of grandeur. He came down the drive again quickly,
slipped between the gates, and sprang in beside me. He gave me the
impression of playing an extremely strong game of tennis.

"'Well?' I said, as he slipped his wallet into the pocket in front of
us, and took out his formidable cigarette case. 'Is M. Nikitos suffering
from the same malady as Captain Macedoine?' The doctor made a grimace.

"'I remember that chap,' he said, 'though I don't recall hearing his
name. He acted on behalf of Captain Macedoine. An international
journalist, whatever that may be. We are rather inclined to avoid
journalists of all sorts here, you know. First I thought he had picked
these people up at the Custom House and got himself appointed dragoman.
Then I suspected when I was called in to see the girl that he and the
old man were ... you understand that we doctors get into some queer
_menages_. But aspired to the hand, you say.'

"'Yes, and makes extravagant claims to what he calls purity.'

"'Oh, that's a very common hallucination,' said the doctor. He laughed
gratingly. 'Compared with the people who employ them, you know, they
must in time get to feel they are immaculate. I don't blame them. But
it's an hallucination.'

"Do you explain everything in pathological terms?' I asked.

"'How do you mean?' demanded he.

"'You seem to imagine we are all the victims of some mental disease.'

"'No, not at all. But the higher types of intellectualism appear to me
slightly mad. The Ego,' added Doctor Sadura, 'is a very peculiar animal.
It feeds on strange things like empire-building on