ation that rather surprised me. And this notwithstanding that the
sombre black-robed figure that my memory conjured up was one that
associated itself appropriately enough with the idea of mystery and
tragedy.

CHAPTER IV

LEGAL COMPLICATIONS AND A JACKAL

My meditations brought me by a circuitous route, and ten minutes late,
to the end of Fetter Lane, where, exchanging my rather abstracted air
for the alert manner of a busy practitioner, I strode forward briskly
and darted into the surgery with knitted brows, as though just released
from an anxious case. But there was only one patient waiting, and she
saluted me as I entered with a snort of defiance.

"Here you are, then?" said she.

"You are perfectly correct, Miss Oman," I replied; "in fact, you have
put the case in a nutshell. What can I have the pleasure of doing for
you?"

"Nothing," was the answer. "My medical adviser is a lady; but I've
brought a note from Mr. Bellingham. Here it is," and she thrust the
envelope into my hand.

I glanced through the note and learned that my patient had had a couple
of bad nights and a very harassing day. "Could I have something to give
me a night's rest?" it concluded.

I reflected a few moments. One is not very ready to prescribe sleeping
draughts for unknown patients, but still, insomnia is a very distressing
condition. In the end, I temporised with a moderate dose of bromide,
deciding to call and see if more energetic measures were necessary.

"He had better take a dose of this at once, Miss Oman," said I, as I
handed her the bottle, "and I will look in later and see how he is."

"I expect he will be glad to see you," she answered, "for he is all
alone to-night and very dumpy. Miss Bellingham is out. But I must remind
you that he's a poor man and pays his way. You must excuse my mentioning
it."

"I am much obliged to you for the hint, Miss Oman," I rejoined. "It
isn't necessary for me to see him, but I should like just to look in and
have a chat."

"Yes, it will do him good. You have your points, though punctuality
doesn't seem to be one of them," and with this parting shot Miss Oman
bustled away.

Half-past eight found me ascending the great, dim staircase of the house
in Nevill's Court preceded by Miss Oman, by whom I was ushered into the
room. Mr. Bellingham, who had just finished some sort of meal, was
sitting hunched up in his chair gazing gloomily into the empty grate. He
brightened up as I enter