eless centre of communication.
But, from Mr. Macrae's perfect confidence, he felt obliged to drop this
attractive hypothesis.

They dined at the usual hour, and not long after dinner Lady Bude said
good-night, while her lord, who was very tired, soon followed her
example. Merton and the millionaire paid a visit to Blake, whom they
found asleep, and the doctor, having taken supper and accepted an
invitation to stay all night, joined the two other men in the smoking-
room. In answer to inquiries about the patient, Dr. MacTavish said,
'It's jist concussion, slight concussion, and nervous shoke. No that
muckle the maiter wi' him but a clour on the hairnspan, and midge bites,
forbye the disagreeableness o' being clamped doon for a wheen hours in a
wat tussock o' bracken.'

This diagnosis, though not perfectly intelligible to Merton, seemed to
reassure Mr. Macrae.

'He's a bit concetty, the chiel,' added the worthy physician, 'and it may
be a day or twa or he judges he can leave his bed. Jist nervous
collapse. But, bless my soul, what's thon?'

'Thon' had brought Mr. Macrae to his feet with a bound. It was the
thrill of the electric bell which preluded to communications from the
wireless communicator! The instrument began to tick, and to emit its
inscribed tape.

'Thank heaven,' cried the millionaire, 'now we shall have light on this
mystery.' He read the message, stamped his foot with an awful
execration, and then, recovering himself, handed the document to Merton.
'The message is a disgusting practical joke,' he said. 'Some one at the
central agency is playing tricks with the instrument.'

'Am I to read the message aloud?' asked Merton.

It was rather a difficult question, for the doctor was a perfect stranger
to all present, and the matters involved were of an intimate delicacy,
affecting the most sacred domestic relations.

'Dr. MacTavish,' said Mr. Macrae, 'speaking as Highlander to Highlander,
these are circumstances, are they not, under the seal of professional
confidence?'

The big doctor rose to his feet.

'They are, sir, but, Mr. Macrae, I am a married man. This sad business
of yours, I say it with sorrow, will be the talk of the world to-morrow,
as it is of the country side to-day. If you will excuse me, I would
rather know nothing, and be able to tell nothing, so I'll take my pipe
outside with me.'

'Not alone, don't go alone, Dr. MacTavish,' said Merton; 'Mr. Macrae will
need his telegra