h--to the earth
of romantic love from the heaven of professional triumph. True, the
latter was hers, the former somebody else's. "I do beg your pardon. I do
indeed. And do let me kiss you again, Cynthia darling--and you, dear
Captain Alec, just once! And then you shall go off to dinner." She
laughed excitedly. "Yes, I'm going to push you out."

"Let's go, Alec," said Cynthia, not unkindly, yet just a little
pettishly. The great moment of her life--surely as great a moment as
there had ever been in anybody's life--had hardly earned adequate
recognition from Mary. As usual, her feelings and Alec's were at one.
Before they passed to other and more important matters, when they drove
off in the car she said to Alec, "It seems to me that Mary's strangely
interested in that Mr. Beaumaroy. Had she been dreaming of him, Alec?"

"Looks like it! And why the devil Morocco?" His intellect baffled,
Captain Alec took refuge in his affections.

Left alone, and so thankful for it, Doctor Mary did not attempt to sit
still. She walked up and down, she roved here and there, smoking any
quantity of cigarettes; she would certainly have forbidden such excess to
a patient. The keyword; its significance had seemed to come to her in
her sleep. Something in that subconsciousness theory? The word explained,
linked up, gave significance--that magical word Morocco!

Yes, they fell into place now, the things that had been so puzzling, and
that looked now so obviously suggestive. Even one thing which she had
thought nothing about, which had not struck her as having any
significance, now took on its meaning--the gray shawl which the old
gentleman so constantly wore swathed round his body, enveloping the whole
of it except his right arm. Did he wear the shawl while he took his
meals? Doctor Mary could not tell as to that. Perhaps he did not; at his
meals only Beaumaroy, and perhaps their servant, would be present. But he
seemed to wear it whenever he went abroad, whenever he was exposed to the
scrutiny of strangers. That indicated secretiveness, perhaps fear, the
apprehension of something. The caution bred by that might give way under
the influence of great cerebral excitement. Unquestionably Mr. Saffron
had been very excited when he waved the sheet of hieroglyphics and
shouted to Beaumaroy about Morocco. But whether he wore the shawl or not
in the safe privacy of Tower Cottage, whatever might be the truth about
that--perhaps he varied his practice a