The invalid, a fine-looking man of about fifty-five, who sat propped up
in bed with a pile of pillows, held out an excessively shaky hand, which
I grasped cordially, making a mental note of the tremor.

"How do you do, sir?" said Mr. Bellingham. "I hope Doctor Barnard is not
ill."

"Oh, no," I answered; "he has gone for a trip down the Mediterranean on
a currant ship. The chance occurred rather suddenly, and I bustled him
off before he had time to change his mind. Hence my rather unceremonious
appearance, which I hope you will forgive."

"Not at all," was the hearty response. "I'm delighted to hear that you
sent him off; he wanted a holiday, poor man. And I am delighted to make
your acquaintance, too."

"It is very good of you," I said; whereupon he bowed as gracefully as a
man may who is propped up in bed with a heap of pillows; and having thus
exchanged broadsides of civility, so to speak, we--or, at least,
I--proceeded to business.

"How long have you been laid up?" I asked cautiously, not wishing to
make too evident the fact that my principal had given me no information
respecting his case.

"A week to-day," he replied. "The _fons et origo mali_ was a hansom-cab
which upset me opposite the Law Courts--sent me sprawling in the middle
of the road. My own fault, of course--at least, the cabby said so, and I
suppose he knew. But that was no consolation to me."