ess being at liberty to
satisfy themselves, day by day, at their own time, that the letter
remains in its place, with the seal unbroken, as long as the doctor has
any hope of his patient's recovery. The last stipulation follows. The
Courier has a conscience; and with a view to keeping it easy, insists
that he shall be left in ignorance of that part of the plot which
relates to the sequestration of my Lord. Not that he cares
particularly what becomes of his miserly master--but he does dislike
taking other people's responsibilities on his own shoulders.

'These conditions being agreed to, the Countess calls in the Baron, who
has been waiting events in the next room.

'He is informed that the Courier has yielded to temptation; but he is
still too cautious to make any compromising remarks. Keeping his back
turned on the bed, he shows a bottle to the Countess. It is labelled
"Chloroform." She understands that my Lord is to be removed from his
room in a convenient state of insensibility. In what part of the
palace is he to be hidden? As they open the door to go out, the
Countess whispers that question to the Baron. The Baron whispers back,
"In the vaults!" The curtain falls.'

CHAPTER XXVIII

So the Second Act ended.

Turning to the Third Act, Henry looked wearily at the pages as he let
them slip through his fingers. Both in mind and body, he began to feel
the need of repose.

In one important respect, the later portion of the manuscript differed
from the pages which he had just been reading. Signs of an overwrought
brain showed themselves, here and there, as the outline of the play
approached its end. The handwriting grew worse and worse. Some of the
longer sentences were left unfinished. In the exchange of dialogue,
questions and answers were not always attributed respectively to the
right speaker. At certain intervals the writer's failing intelligence
seemed to recover itself for a while; only to relapse again, and to
lose the thread of the narrative more hopelessly than ever.

After reading one or two of the more coherent passages Henry recoiled
from the ever-darkening horror of the story. He closed the manuscript,
heartsick and exhausted, and threw himself on his bed to rest. The
door opened almost at the same moment. Lord Montbarry entered the room.

'We have just returned from the Opera,' he said; 'and we have heard the
news of that miserable woman's death. They say you spoke to her in her
last mome