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I took it up and glanced at it. "Mr. Victor Hatherley, hydraulic

engineer, 16A, Victoria Street (3rd floor)." That was the name,

style, and abode of my morning visitor. "I regret that I have

kept you waiting," said I, sitting down in my library-chair. "You

are fresh from a night journey, I understand, which is in itself

a monotonous occupation."

"Oh, my night could not be called monotonous," said he, and

laughed. He laughed very heartily, with a high, ringing note,

leaning back in his chair and shaking his sides. All my medical

instincts rose up against that laugh.

"Stop it!" I cried; "pull yourself together!" and I poured out

some water from a caraffe.

It was useless, however. He was off in one of those hysterical

outbursts which come upon a strong nature when some great crisis

is over and gone. Presently he came to himself once more, very

weary and pale-looking.

"I have been making a fool of myself," he gasped.