, one of the
Devonshire Courtenays, a very wealthy if somewhat eccentric old
gentleman, lived in one of those prim, pleasant, detached houses in
Richmond Road, facing Kew Gardens, and was one of Sir Bernard's best
patients. He had been under him for a number of years until they had
become personal friends. One of his eccentricities was to insist on
paying heavy fees to his medical adviser, believing, perhaps, that by
so doing he would secure greater and more careful attention.

But, strangely enough, mention of the name suddenly gave me the clue
so long wanting. It aroused within me a sense of impending evil
regarding the very man of whom we were speaking. The sound of the name
seemed to strike the sympathetic chord within my brain, and I at once
became cognisant that the unaccountable presage of impending
misfortune was connected with that rather incongruous household down
at Kew.

Therefore, when Sir Bernard imparted to me his misgivings, I was
quickly on the alert, and questioned him regarding the progress of old
Mr. Courtenay's disease.

"The poor fellow is sinking, I'm afraid, Boyd," exclaimed my chief,
confidentially. "He doesn't believe himself half so ill as he is. When
did you see him last?"

"Only a few days ago. I thought he seemed much improved," I said.

"Ah! of course," the old doctor snapped; his manner towards me in an
instant changed. "You're a frequent visitor there, I forgot. Feminine
attraction and all that sort of thing. Dangerous, Boyd! Dangerous to
run after a woman of her sort. I'm an older man than you. Why haven't
you taken the hint I gave you long ago?"

"Because I could see no reason why I should not continue my friendship
with Ethelwynn Mivart."

"My dear Boyd," he responded, in a sympathetic fatherly manner, which
he sometimes assumed, "I'm an old bachelor, and I see quite sufficient
of women in this room--too much of them, in fact. The majority are
utterly worthless. Recollect that I have never taken away a woman's
character yet, and I refuse to do so now--especially to her lover. I
merely warn you, Boyd, to drop her. That's all. If you don't, depend
upon it you'll regret it."

"Then there's some secret or other of her past which she conceals, I
suppose?" I said hoarsely, feeling confident that being so intimate
with his patient, old Mr. Courtenay, he had discovered it.

"Yes," he replied, blinking again at me through his glasses. "There
is--a very ugly secret."

CHAPTE