another and said nothing. The spirit-lamp that
heated the silver dish of bacon upon the table spurted at intervals and
I saw Symington-Tearle stare at it in faint surprise.

"Does it sound very loud?" asked Sarakoff at length.

"Extraordinarily loud. And upon my soul your voice nearly deafens me."

"It will pass," I said. "One gets adjusted to the extreme sensitiveness
in a short time. How do you feel?"

"I feel," said Symington-Tearle slowly, "as if I were newly constructed
from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet. After a Turkish bath
and twenty minutes' massage I've experienced a little of the feeling."

He stared at Sarakoff, then at me, and finally at the spirit lamp. We
must have presented an odd spectacle. For there we sat, three men who,
under ordinary circumstances, were extremely busy and active, lolling
round the unfinished breakfast table while the hands of the clock
travelled relentlessly onward.

Relentlessly? That was scarcely correct. To me, owing to some mysterious
change that I cannot explain, the clock had ceased to be a tyrannous and
hateful monster. I did not care how fast it went or to what hour it
pointed. Time was no longer precious, any more than the sand of the sea
is precious.

"Aren't you going to have any breakfast?" asked Symington-Tearle.

"I'm not in the least hurry," replied Sarakoff. "I think I'll take a
sip of coffee. Are you hungry, Harden?"

"No. I don't want anything save coffee. But I'm in no hurry."

My housemaid entered and announced that the gentleman who had been
waiting in Dr. Symington-Tearle's car, and was now in the hall, wished
to know if the doctor would be long.

"Oh, that is a patient of mine," said Symington-Tearle, "ask him to come
in."

A large, stout, red-faced gentleman entered, wrapped in a thick frieze
motor coat. He nodded to us briefly.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, "but time's getting on, Tearle. My
consultation with Sir Peverly Salt was for half past nine, if you
remember. It's that now."

"Oh, there's plenty of time," said Tearle. "Sit down, Ballard. It's nice
and warm in here."

"It may be nice and warm," replied Mr. Ballard loudly, "but I don't want
to keep Sir Peverly waiting."

"I don't see why you shouldn't keep him waiting," said Tearle. "In fact
I really don't see why you should go to him at all."

Mr. Ballard stared for a moment. Then his eyes travelled round the table
and dwelt first on Sarakoff and then on me. I supp