reading over one of the notices of Harwich's death. I had begged
him to put them away, and not to brood over the inevitable. (We
only got the papers giving an account of Harwich yesterday.) But
being so seedy, poor boy, I suppose he naturally turns to things
that deepen depression. I ought not to have left him. But he
insisted on my taking a ride and visiting the temple, which I had
never been in before. I persuaded him to put away the papers, and
am devoting myself to cheering him up. We play cards together, and
I make music, and I read aloud to him. The great thing is--now that
he has taken a decided turn for the better--not to excite him in
any way. Now you, dear doctor--you mustn't mind my saying it--are
rather exciting. You have so much mentality yourself that you stir
up one's mind. I have always noticed that. Fond as he is of you,
just at this moment I fear you would exhaust Nigel. He gets hot and
excited so easily since the sunstroke. So _please pass us by
without a call_, and do be kind and wait for us at Assouan. In a
very few days we shall be able to receive you, and then, when he is
a little stronger, you can be of the greatest help to Nigel. Not as
a doctor--you see we have one, and mustn't leave him; _medical
etiquette_, you know!--but as a friend. It is so delightful to feel
you will be at Assouan. If you are the least anxious about your
friend, when you get to Assouan ask for Doctor Baring Hartley, if
you like, Cataract Hotel. He will set your mind at rest, as he has
set mine. It is only a question of keeping very quiet and getting
up strength.

"Sincerely yours,

"Ruby Armine.

"P.S. Don't let your men make too much noise when passing us. Nigel
sleeps at odd times. Perhaps wiser to pole up along the opposite
bank."

* * * * *

Yes, the detective had been right--of course.

Isaacson read the letter again, and this time slowly. The handwriting
was large, clear, and determined, but here and there it seemed to waver,
a word turned down. He fancied he detected signs of--

He read the postscript four times. If the handwriting had ever wavered,
it had recovered itself in the postscript. As he gazed at it, he felt as
if he were looking at a proclamation.

He heard a sound, almost as if a soft-footed animal were padding towards
h