dered.

I sat breathless, listening to the footsteps along the hall, and to
Moroni wishing his visitor good afternoon.

A few moments later he opened the door brusquely and with a pleasant
smile apologized for keeping me waiting. Then he conducted me to his
consulting-room, a gloomy, frowsy little apartment much over-heated,
as is usual in Florentine houses in winter.

"Well?" he asked. "And how do you feel now, Mr. Garfield?"

My reply was the reverse of satisfactory. The mixture had done me
good, I said, but I still felt excruciating pains after eating. In
consequence, he felt my pulse and took my temperature, while I, on my
part, strained my ears listening for any feminine voice. Was the girl
whose secret I sought still there?

Once I heard a woman's voice, but she cried in Italian to a
fellow-servant named Enrichetta, hence she was probably the maid who
had admitted me.

Moroni, after he had concluded his examination, seemed a little
puzzled. No doubt I had, in my ignorance, described some imaginary
symptom which was not in accordance with what he expected to find. He,
however, gave me another prescription, and as he wrote it I wondered
how he would act if he knew that my object in becoming his patient
was to probe the mystery of the affair in Stretton Street.

I had at least gained knowledge of his intended visit to the Villa
Clementini unknown to the butler, Robertson. He was to be there either
at eleven o'clock that night or at eleven next morning. It occurred to
me that I might possibly learn something of interest if I watched the
doctor's movements at the hours indicated.

"Your symptoms rather puzzle me," said the doctor at last, eyeing me
from beneath his bushy black brows. "To tell the truth, I fancy you
must have eaten something poisonous at one of the restaurants. They
sometimes use tinned food which is not quite good, and it sets up
irritant poisoning. I had a case very similar to yours last week. The
climate here did not suit him, and he has returned to England."

"Oh! I hope to be better in a few days, doctor," I said cheerfully,
for I was anxious for another opportunity to visit him. I wanted to
see, and if possible speak in secret with the girl who bore such a
striking resemblance to the dead Gabrielle Engledue.

On returning to the hotel I rang up the Villa Clementini and inquired
for Robertson. In a few moments I spoke to him, asking if he were
coming down to the Gambrinus.

"I'm sorry