been kept relatively
free from scandal, and suicides were of comparatively rare occurrence.
The institution, under the direction of Superintendent Spencer, was
pleasantly situated on Long Island, overlooking the Sound, and catered
almost exclusively to a wealthy class of patients who, for one reason or
another, found themselves compelled to take the "rest cure."

One morning, about three weeks after Mr. Cooley's spectacular arrest of
the runaways at the Jersey ferry, Superintendent Spencer was seated at
his desk in the general reception room at "Sea Rest," dictating reports
to a young woman stenographer. There was little about the surroundings
to suggest the sinister character of the place. Only the heavily barred
windows, overlooking the grounds enclosed by high walls, and the massive
doors fitted with ponderous bolts and locks suggested that padded cells
with wild-eyed inmates might be found in some other part of the
establishment. Otherwise it was an ordinary, everyday business office.
The large desk near the window was covered with ledgers and papers,
while close at hand was a telephone and clicking typewriter. To the left
of the desk a small, narrow door led to the wards. On the right a heavy
door opened on the vestibule and grounds.

The superintendent himself was a clean-shaven man of about thirty-five.
Alert-looking and well groomed, he had the energetic manner of the
successful business man. Mechanically, as if it were a matter of
tiresome routine, to be hurried through as speedily as possible, he went
on dictating in a monotonous tone:

"Report on Miss Manderson's case. Attendant, Miss Hadley; physician, Dr.
Bently. Patient's demand for stimulants decreasing, but she calls
constantly for bridge-playing companions. Patient generally
cheerful--will not retire till 3 A. M. Six packages of cigarettes in her
room----"

Buzz! buzz! A disc fell down on the indicator on the wall, disclosing a
number.

The superintendent turned quickly and, glancing at the indicator,
pressed a button in his desk. This released a bolt in the door leading
to the outer hall, a safeguard necessary to prevent reckless patients
from wandering outside to help themselves without permission to the
fresh air. The big door swung open and an old man, bent with age,
entered.

"Ah, Collins--I wanted to see you!" said the superintendent sharply.

Seized with an attack of coughing, the old man could not reply at once.
For thirty years he had