hand?"

"Well," replied Innes, laying a card upon the table, "I was just
coming in with it when you rang."

Paul Harley glanced at the card.

"Sir Charles Abingdon," he read aloud, staring reflectively at
his secretary. "That is the osteologist?"

"Yes," answered Innes, "but I fancy he has retired from
practice."

"Ah," murmured Harley, "I wonder what he wants. I suppose I had
better see him, as I fancy that he and I met casually some years
ago in India. Ask him to come in, will you?"

Innes retiring, there presently entered a distinguished-looking,
elderly gentleman upon whose florid face rested an expression not
unlike that of embarrassment.

"Mr. Harley," he began, "I feel somewhat ill at ease in
encroaching upon your time, for I am by no means sure that my
case comes within your particular province."

"Sit down, Sir Charles," said Harley with quiet geniality.
"Officially, my working day is ended; but if nothing comes of
your visit beyond a chat it will have been very welcome.
Calcutta, was it not, where we last met?"