in sternly rebuked him for his ill-timed levity.

"How can you so far forget yourself, Mr. Stulpnagel," said he, "as to
jest in the presence of death?"

But the German was quite unabashed.

"If I were in the presence of death I should not jest," said he, "but
since I am not I may do what I choose."

This flippant reply was about to draw another and a sterner reproof from
the chaplain, when the door was swung open and two warders entered
leading Duncan Warner between them. He glanced round him with a set
face, stepped resolutely forward, and seated himself upon the chair.

"Touch her off!" said he.

It was barbarous to keep him in suspense. The chaplain murmured a few
words in his ear, the attendant placed the cap upon his head, and then,
while we all held our breath, the wire and the metal were brought in
contact.

"Great Scott!" shouted Duncan Warner.

He had bounded in his chair as the frightful shock crashed through his
system. But he was not dead. On the contrary, his eyes gleamed far more
brightly than they had done before. There was only one change, but it
was a singular one. The black had passed from his hair and beard as the
shadow passes from a landscape. They were both as white as snow. And yet
there was no other sign of decay. His skin was smooth and plump and
lustrous as a child's.

The Marshal looked at the committee with a reproachful eye.

"There seems to be some hitch here, gentlemen," said he.

We three practical men looked at each other.

Peter Stulpnagel smiled pensively.

"I think that another one should do it," said I.

Again the connection was made, and again Duncan Warner sprang in his
chair and shouted, but, indeed, were it not that he still remained in
the chair none of us would have recognised him. His hair and his beard
had shredded off in an instant, and the room looked like a barber's shop
on a Saturday night. There he sat, his eyes still shining, his skin
radiant with the glow of perfect health, but with a scalp as bald as a
Dutch cheese, and a chin without so much as a trace of down. He began to
revolve one of his arms, slowly and doubtfully at first, but with more
confidence as he went on.

"That joint," said he, "has puzzled half the doctors on the Pacific
slope. It's as good as new, and as limber as a hickory twig."

"You are feeling pretty well?" asked the old German.

"Never better in my life," said Duncan Warner cheerily.

The situation was a painful one. The Ma