suddenly been awakened; and with the last scene of which he was
conscious, before the shot had prostrated body and mind at one blow,
once more vividly before his mind, he had risen from his seat during his
nurse's absence, and made straight for the chambers, bent upon finishing
the task upon which he had set his mind.

As he mounted the stairs, nearly everything was as clear as on the day
when he had presented himself. Only one matter was confused, and,
strangely enough, that was the point upon which, during his imbecile
condition, he had been able to dwell--to wit, his wound. One set of
ideas swept away the other, and he could only go back to the moment when
he had presented that revolver at Stratton.

And now, as he entered the room and spoke, it was to him the same day
and the continuation of his interview with Stratton. It puzzled him a
little that he should have had to come through the streets to continue
that scene, but not much, for his mind had been gradually opening out
from the time he left Queen Charlotte Road, and it was only when he
reached Stratton's door that he had gained its full expansion. He was a
little surprised, too, at seeing Brettison there. The latter had come
in suddenly like one in a dream, but he did not let it trouble him. If
Stratton was willing to let a third person share the secret, that was
his lookout. Brettison was evidently not connected with the police, and
he felt that the power he held made him more than a match for both.

He smiled as he saw the effect his arrival had produced on the occupants
of the chambers, and looked sharply from one to the other before
turning, and turning the bolt of the inner door into its socket. Then
his hand went suspiciously to his pocket and then to his breast. Not
finding what he sought, he looked at the table and the floor in search
of it.

He shook his head then as if to clear his mind, and turned to Brettison.

"Who are you?" he said sharply. "Friend of his--a friend of the lady?
Why have you come? Don't matter. If he doesn't mind, it's nothing to
me. Get the old man and the aunt, and my wife too, if you like, for she
is my wife, mind. You can't get out of that--my wife, Mrs James
Barron. Do you hear, Stratton?--Mrs James Barron."

Stratton uttered a peculiar sound, between a groan and a cry of rage,
and he took a step toward the man, who drew himself up threateningly.

"No nonsense," he said, with a fierce snarl.

"No games,