isn't he?"

"Oh, yes, very."

"Don't think he has stolen the bullet, do you?"

"Oh, no, no; not likely."

"No, of course not," said Barron thoughtfully, as he sank back in his
chair and went on smoking.

Brettison spoke to him again and again, but his words had not the
slightest effect; the man seemed perfectly unconscious of all that was
said, and at last there was a tap at the door, and the nurse entered
with a tray, and a little tureen of beef tea, with thin slices of toast.

"He always has this, sir, about this time," said the nurse
apologetically, "and the doctor said that it must be given regularly."

"Quite right, Mary. Of course."

"He has been talking a little, sir?"

"Oh, yes, for a time, and then he finished; and we have not had a word
since."

"No, sir, and you would not till to-morrow now, when he'll wake up a
little again, and talk about what a wonderful case his is."

"Poor fellow!" said Brettison compassionately.

"And he always seems to have got that bullet on his brain, sir."

"Naturally," muttered Brettison.

"And, if you'll believe me, sir, if he didn't ask me to confess
yesterday that I'd stolen it to show to people, because his was such a
curious case."

Stratton glanced at the man seated there, still smoking placidly, and
evidently not grasping a word that was said.

The tray was taken to him, and he submitted to the pipe being removed
from his hand, after which, in perfect silence, and in the most
mechanical manner, he went on with his meal, while, after a few more
words with the nurse, Brettison led the way out into the road, and he
and Stratton went back toward the West End.

"Now," said Brettison at last, "you have seen our deadly enemy--the
being who crushes down the future of two people I love. What do you
say?"

Stratton was silent for a few moments.

"Will he recover?" he said at last.

"Not in this world. The bullet lodged somewhere about the brain, and it
has produced, by its pressure, this peculiar form of imbecility. The
past is an utter blank to him, and it is only for a short time every
morning that he has the power of expressing himself at all."

"You feel certain that he will not recover?"

"I have had the opinions of two of our most famous specialists, and they
say it is impossible. The man is, to all intents and purposes, mentally
dead. Now, then, as an enemy, Myra has no cause to fear him."

"None."

"He can never trouble you or her for bla