ng man who has been
having me shadowed all day." He laughed quietly. "If I hadn't to go back
to the surgery for the Bromocine I should have missed our very
interesting conversation. That young man is very much in love with
you"--he looked amusedly at the growing red in her face. "He is very
much in love with you," he repeated. "What a pity! What a thousand
pities!"

"How soon will this drug begin to act?" she asked.

"Are you frightened?"

"No, but I should welcome anything which made me oblivious to your
presence--you are not exactly a pleasant companion," she said, with a
return to the old tone he knew so well.

"Content yourself, little person," he said with simulated affection.
"You will soon be rid of me."

"Why do you want to marry me?"

"I can tell you that now," he said: "Because you are a very rich woman
and I want your money, half of which comes to me on my marriage."

"Then the man spoke the truth!" She sat up suddenly, but the effort made
her head swim.

He caught her by the shoulders and laid her gently down.

"What man--not that babbling idiot, Bridgers?" He said something, but
instantly recovered his self-possession. "Keep quiet," he said with
professional sternness. "Yes, you are the heiress of an interesting
gentleman named John Millinborn."

"John Millinborn!" she gasped. "The man who was murdered!"

"The man who was killed," he corrected. "'Murder' is a stupid, vulgar
word. Yes, my dear, you are his heiress. He was your uncle, and he left
you something over six million dollars. That is to say he left us that
colossal sum."

"But I don't understand. What does it mean?"

"Your name is Predeaux. Your father was the ruffian----"

"I know, I know," she cried. "The man in the hotel. The man who died. My
father!"

"Interesting, isn't it?" he said calmly, "like something out of a book.
Yes, my dear, that was your parent, a dissolute ruffian whom you will do
well to forget. I heard John Millinborn tell his lawyer that your mother
died of a broken heart, penniless, as a result of your father's cruelty
and unscrupulousness, and I should imagine that that was the truth."

"My father!" she murmured.

She lay, her face as white as the pillow, her eyes closed.

"John Millinborn left a fortune for you--and I think that you might as
well know the truth now--the money was left in trust. You were not to
know that you were an heiress until you were married. He was afraid of
some fortune-hunter rui