of the richness of the French _chef's_ cooking. He had
seemed to think it an outrage that something of a special, very plain,
nature had not been provided for him every day, and he had hinted that
perhaps the doctor could suggest some antidote to all this richness!
There was another reason, so Panton's sleepy mind told him, why he
didn't like his sulky, plain fellow-guest. It became suddenly,
unexpectedly, clear to him that Tapster was much taken with Miss
Bubbles. The man had hardly taken his eyes off her during the whole of
dinner, and it had been a disagreeable, appraising look--as if he
couldn't quite make up his mind what she was worth! He told himself,
while remembering that look, that Tapster was the kind of man who is
always hesitating, always absorbed in some woman, and yet always afraid
to try his luck--in the hope that if he waits, he may do better next
time! Miss Bubbles was a hundred times too good for such a fellow,
however rich the fellow might be....

Gradually Panton felt himself slipping off into that pleasant condition
which immediately precedes a dreamless, healthful sleep.

And then, all at once, his senses became keenly alert, for a curious
sound became audible in the darkening room. It was without doubt a
sound created by some industrious mouse, or perhaps--though that idea
was a less pleasant one--by a greedy rat. Swish, swish--swish--just like
the rustling of a lady's silk dress!

Panton stretched out his right arm, and knocked the wall behind him
sharply twice or thrice, and the sound stopped suddenly. But after a few
minutes, just as he was dropping off, it began again. But it no longer
startled him, as it had done the first time, and soon he was fast
asleep.

It might have been a moment, it might have been an hour, later, when
there came a sudden, urgent knocking at his door. He sat up in bed.

"Come in," he called out, now wide awake.

The door opened slowly--and there came through it a curious-looking
figure. It was James Tapster, arrayed in a wonderful dressing-gown made
of Persian shawls, and edged with fur. He held a candlestick in his
hand, and the candle threw up a flickering light on his pallid,
alarmed-looking face.

"Dr. Panton," he whispered, "I wish you'd come out here a moment."

And the doctor, cursing his bad luck, and feeling what he very seldom
felt, thoroughly angry, said ungraciously: "What is the matter? Can't
you tell me without my getting out of bed?"

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