certain dizziness here." And he pressed his hand to
his forehead.

The valet withdrew at a sign from his master, and was followed by the
porter. Fisher advanced to the bedside and took the Baron's wrist.
Even his unpractised touch told him that the pulse was alarmingly
high. He was much puzzled, and not a little uneasy at the turn which
the affair had taken. "Have I got myself and the Russian into an
infernal scrape?" he thought. "But no--he's well out of his teens, and
half a tumbler of such whiskey as that ought not to go to a baby's
head."

Nevertheless, the new symptoms developed themselves with a rapidity
and poignancy that made Fisher feel uncommonly anxious. Savitch's face
became as white as marble--its paleness rendered startling by the
sharp contrast of the black skull cap. His form reeled as he sat on
the bed, and he clasped his head convulsively with both hands, as if
in terror lest it burst.

"I had better call your valet," said Fisher, nervously.

"No, no!" gasped the Baron. "You are a medical man, and I shall have
to trust you. There is something--wrong--here." With a spasmodic
gesture he vaguely indicated the top of his head.

"But I am not--" stammered Fisher.

"No words!" exclaimed the Russian, imperiously. "Act at once--there
must be no delay. Unscrew the top of my head!"

Savitch tore off his skull cap and flung it aside. Fisher has no words
to describe the bewilderment with which he beheld the actual fabric of
the Baron's cranium. The skull cap had concealed the fact that the
entire top of Savitch's head was a dome of polished silver.

"Unscrew it!" said Savitch again.

Fisher reluctantly placed both hands upon the silver skull and exerted
a gentle pressure toward the left. The top yielded, turning easily and
truly in its threads.

"Faster!" said the Baron, faintly. "I tell you no time must be lost."
Then he swooned.

At this instant there was a sound of voices in the outer room, and the
door leading into the Baron's bed-chamber was violently flung open and
as violently closed. The new-comer was a short, spare man of middle
age, with a keen visage and piercing, deep-set little gray eyes. He
stood for a few seconds scrutinizing Fisher with a sharp, almost
fiercely jealous regard.

The Baron recovered his consciousness and opened his eyes.

"Dr. Rapperschwyll!" he exclaimed.

Dr. Rapperschwyll, with a few rapid strides, approached the bed and
confronted Fisher and Fisher's patient.