him
off. It was Foe.

"It's all right," he gasped, staring at me. "No need to make a fuss.
. . . I have killed him." And with that, still staring at me
horribly, he sank slowly and collapsed in a huddle at my feet, raving
out incoherent words.

Furnilove behaved admirably. Having assured himself that Miss
Constantia was safe, and that I had the intruder under control, he
went smartly to the telephone. . . . Amid Foe's ravings I heard him
ringing up the exchange and, after a pause, summoning the doctor.

"We had better have the spare room prepared again, after all," said
Constantia. "We can't turn him out, in this state. . . . And there's
a dressing-room, Roddy, next door, if you can put up with it. . . .
But what has happened, God knows."

"God knows," said I. "But he's a lunatic, unless I'm mistaken.
We'll hear what the doctor says. . . . But he shan't sleep here,
to trouble you. . . . Furnilove, whistle up and have a taxi
ready. . . ."

"Oh, what is he saying?" moaned Constantia as the body on the floor
still twisted as if burrowing to hide itself, now muttering and again
shouting in a voice that reverberated along the passage, "Kill him!
Damn that dog!--kill him!"

I knelt on the body and held it still. It was the body of my best
friend, and I knelt on it, almost throttling him.

"One can't ring up a lunatic asylum, at this hour of the morning,"
I found myself gasping. "He's for my flat, to-night, if your doctor
will take charge of him with me." And with that I looked up and
caught sight of Constantia's mother at the head of the staircase.

"It's all right, Mrs. Denistoun," said I, glancing up. "It's my
friend, Jack Foe--my friend that was. With the doctor's leave I'll
get him back presently to Jermyn Street, where Jephson and I will
look after him for the night. . . . Jephson used to worship him, and
will wait on him as a slave."

And with that--as it seemed amid the blasts of Furnilove's whistle in
the porchway and the _toot-toot_ of a taxi, answering it--a quiet man
stood above my shoulder. It was the doctor: and Furnilove had been
so explicit on the 'phone that the doctor--whose name I learnt
afterwards to be Tredgold--almost by magic whipped out a small bottle
from his pocket.

"Water," said he, after a look at the patient, "and a tumbler,
quick!"

Furnilove dashed into the library and returned with both.

"Bromide," said Dr. Tredgold. "Let him take it down and then hold
his head