tient to get to Switzerland, but his
wife had contracted a table d'hote intimacy with a Polish countess,
and she positively refused to take any step that would sever so
advantageous a connection.

One afternoon Fisher was standing on one of the little bridges that
span the gutterwide Oosbach, idly gazing into the water and wondering
whether a good sized Rangely trout could swim the stream without
personal inconvenience, when the porter of the Badischer Hof came to
him on the run.

"Herr Doctor Professor!" cried the porter, touching his cap. "I pray
you pardon, but the highborn the Baron Savitch out of Moscow, of the
General Ignatieff's suite, suffers himself in a terrible fit, and
appears to die."

In vain Fisher assured the porter that it was a mistake to consider
him a medical expert; that he professed no science save that of draw
poker; that if a false impression prevailed in the hotel it was
through a blunder for which he was in no way responsible; and that,
much as he regretted the unfortunate condition of the highborn the
Baron out of Moscow, he did not feel that his presence in the chamber
of sickness would be of the slightest benefit. It was impossible to
eradicate the idea that possessed the porter's mind. Finding himself
fairly dragged toward the hotel, Fisher at length concluded to make a
virtue of necessity and to render his explanations to the Baron's
friends.

The Russian's apartments were upon the second floor, not far from
those occupied by Fisher. A French valet, almost beside himself with
terror, came hurrying out of the room to meet the porter and the
Doctor Professor. Fisher again attempted to explain, but to no
purpose. The valet also had explanations to make, and the superior
fluency of his French enabled him to monopolize the conversation. No,
there was nobody there--nobody but himself, the faithful Auguste of
the Baron. His Excellency, the General Ignatieff, his Highness, the
Prince Koloff, Dr. Rapperschwyll, all the suite, all the world, had
driven out that morning to Gernsbach. The Baron, meanwhile, had been
seized by an effraying malady, and he, Auguste, was desolate with
apprehension. He entreated Monsieur to lose no time in parley, but to
hasten to the bedside of the Baron, who was already in the agonies of
dissolution.

Fisher followed Auguste into the inner room. The Baron, in his boots,
lay upon the bed, his body bent almost double by the unrelenting gripe
of a distressful pain. H