of his bed, smiling pleasantly upon the universe, with both legs
jammed into one side of his breeches and his great brain about as
valuable as a cap full of porridge, the matter was strong enough to
give quite a little thrill of interest to folk who had never hoped that
their jaded nerves were capable of such a sensation.

Douglas Stone in his prime was one of the most remarkable men in
England. Indeed, he could hardly be said to have ever reached his
prime, for he was but nine-and-thirty at the time of this little
incident. Those who knew him best were aware that famous as he was as
a surgeon, he might have succeeded with even greater rapidity in any of
a dozen lines of life. He could have cut his way to fame as a soldier,
struggled to it as an explorer, bullied for it in the courts, or built
it out of stone and iron as an engineer. He was born to be great, for
he could plan what another man dare not do, and he could do what
another man dare not plan. In surgery none could follow him. His
nerve, his judgement, his intuition, were things apart. Again and
again his knife cut away death, but grazed the very springs of life in
doing it, until his assistants were as white as the patient. His
energy, his audacity, his full-blooded self-confidence--does not the
memory of them still linger to the south of Marylebone Road and the
north of Oxford Street?

His vices were as magnificent as his virtues, and infinitely more
picturesque. Large as was his income, and it was the third largest of
all professional men in London, it was far beneath the luxury of his
living. Deep in his complex nature lay a rich vein of sensualism, at
the sport of which he placed all the prizes of his life. The eye, the
ear, the touch, the palate, all were his masters. The bouquet of old
vintages, the scent of rare exotics, the curves and tints of the
daintiest potteries of Europe, it was to these that the quick-running
stream of gold was transformed. And then there came his sudden mad
passion for Lady Sannox, when a single interview with two challenging
glances and a whispered word set him ablaze. She was the loveliest
woman in London and the only one to him. He was one of the handsomest
men in London, but not the only one to her. She had a liking for new
experiences, and was gracious to most men who wooed her. It may have
been cause or it may have been effect that Lord Sannox looked fifty,
though he was but six-and-thirty.

He was a qu