eets, lit a cigar and strolled out into the little
back-garden.

It was a fine, warm afternoon, and already the crocuses were
thrusting their heads out of the neat flower-beds as if to
ascertain whether the spring had really arrived. There was,
indeed, a pleasant vernal scent in the air.

"A fine day!" said a voice.

Desmond looked up. At the open window of the summerhouse of the
garden backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's, his elbows resting on
the pitch-pine frame, was a middle-aged man. A cigarette was in
his mouth and from his hands dangled a newspaper. He had a
smooth-shaven, heavily-jowled face and a large pair of
tortoise-shell spectacles on his nose.

Desmond remembered to have seen the man already looking out of a
window opposite his on one of the upper floors of the house. In
reply to a casual inquiry, Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe had informed him
that the house was a nursing home kept by a Dr. Radcombe, a nerve
specialist.

"It is quite like spring!" replied Desmond, wondering if this
were the doctor. Doctors get about a good deal and Dr. Radcombe
might be able to tell him something about Mrs. Malplaquet.

"I think we have seen one another in the mornings sometimes,"
said the heavily-fowled man, "though I have noticed that you are
an earlier riser than I am. But when one is an invalid--"

"You are one of Dr. Radcombe's patients, then!" said Desmond.

"I am," returned the other, "a great man, that, my dear sir. I
doubt if there is his equal for diagnosis in the kingdom."

"He has lived here for some years, I suppose?"

"Oh yes!" answered the man, "in fact, he is one of the oldest and
most-respected residents of Kensington, I believe!"

"I am rather anxious to find some friends of mine who live about
here," Desmond remarked, quick to seize his opportunity, "I
wonder whether your doctor could help me..."

"I'm sure he could," the man replied, "the doctor knows
everybody..."

"The name--" began Desmond, but the other checked him.

"Please don't ask me to burden my memory with names," he
protested. "I am here for a complete rest from over-work, and
loss of memory is one of my symptoms. But look here; why not come
over the wall and step inside the house with me? Dr. Radcombe is
there and will, I am sure, be delighted to give you any
assistance in his power!"

Desmond hesitated.

"Really," he said, "it seems rather unconventional. Perhaps the
doctor would object..."

"Object" said the heavily-fowled man,