"Number Thirteen," answered the house-doctor, leading the way.

The lamp was set on the locker beside the bed of Thirteen, screens were
placed round to create a seclusion amid the living, breathing silence of
the ward, and Lefevre proceeded to examine the unconscious patient who
had so strangely put himself in his hands.

He was young and well-favoured, and, it was evident from the firmness of
his flesh, well-fed. Lefevre considered his features a moment, shook his
head, and murmured, "No; I don't think I've seen him before." He turned
to the nurse and inquired concerning the young man's clothes: they were
evidently those of a gentleman, she said,--of one, at least, who had
plenty of money. He turned again to the young man. He raised the left
arm to feel the heart, but, contrary to his experience in such cases,
the arm did not remain as he bent it, nor did the eyes open in obedience
to the summons of the disturbed nerves. The breathing was scarcely
perceptible, and the beating of the heart was faint.

"A strange case," said Lefevre in a low voice to his young comrade--"the
strangest I've seen. He does not look a subject for this kind of thing,
and yet he is in the extreme stage of hypnotism. You see." And the
doctor, by sundry tests and applications, showed the peculiar exhausted
and contractive condition of the muscles. "It is very curious."

"Perhaps," said the other, "he has been--" and he hesitated.

"Been what?" asked Lefevre, turning on him his keen look.

"Enjoying himself."