ger in a few moments, and began talking
incoherently to himself. We got him down to the doctor's carriage, and
drove rapidly to his lodgings, where we put him to bed without delay.

"I think he'll pull through," observed the doctor, after watching him
for a while. "I'll get a couple of nurses, and we'll give him every
chance. Has he any relatives here in New York?"

"No; his relatives are all in Ohio. Had they better be notified?"

"Oh, I think not--not unless he gets worse. He seems to be naturally
strong. I suppose he's been worrying about something?"

"Yes," I said. "He has been greatly worried by one of his cases."

"Of course," he nodded. "If the human race had sense enough to stop
worrying, there'd be mighty little work for us doctors."

"I'd like to call Doctor Jenkinson into the case," I said. "He knows
Mr. Royce, and may be of help."

"Certainly; I'll be glad to consult with Doctor Jenkinson."

So Jenkinson was called, and confirmed the diagnosis. He understood,
of course, the cause of Mr. Royce's breakdown, and turned to me when
the consultation was ended, and his colleague had taken his departure.

"Mr. Lester," he said, "I advise you to go home and get some rest. Put
this case out of your mind, or you'll be right where Mr. Royce is. He
had some more bad news, I suppose?"

I told him of Miss Holladay's disappearance; he pondered over it a
moment with grave face.

"This strengthens my belief that she is suffering with dementia," he
said. "Sudden aversion to relatives and friends is one of its most
common symptoms. Of course, she must be found."

"I'm going to find her," I assured him, with perhaps a little more
confidence than I really felt.

"Well, remember to call on me if I can help you. But first of all, go
home and sleep for ten hours--twelve, if you can. Mind, no work before
that--no building of theories. You'll be so much the fresher
to-morrow."

I recognized the wisdom of this advice, but I had one thing to do
first. I took a cab and drove to the nearest telegraph office. There I
sent an imperative message to Brooks, the Holladay coachman, telling
him to return to New York by the first train, and report to me at the
office. That done, I gave the driver my address and settled back in
the seat.

No building of theories, Jenkinson had said; yet it was difficult to
keep the brain idle. Where was Frances Holladay? Why had she fled? Was
she really mentally deranged? Had the weight of the se