silence, waiting for his opinion. When he found an interesting case he
sometimes delivered a little lecture on it, in a quiet monotonous tone
that did not disturb the other patients. But to-day he did not seem
inclined to talk.

"Convalescent," he said, "at least of the fever. He needs good food
more than anything else. In two days he will be walking about."

He passed on, but in his own mind he was wondering what was the matter
with the young man, why he had lost his memory, and what accident had
brought him alone and friendless to one of the city hospitals. For the
present it would be better to let him alone rather than tire him by a
thorough examination of his head. There was probably a small fracture
somewhere at the back of the skull, the doctor thought, and it would be
easy enough to find it when the patient was strong enough to sit up.

The doctor had not been long gone when an elderly man with a grizzled
moustache and thoughtful eyes was led to Marcello's bedside by the
Superintendent himself. The appearance of the latter at an unusual hour
was always an event in the ward, and the nurses watched him with
curiosity. They would have been still more curious had they known that
the elderly gentleman was the Chief of the Police himself. The
Superintendent raised his hand to motion them away.

"What is your name, sir?" asked the Chief, bending down and speaking in
a low voice.

"Marcello."

"Yes," replied the other, almost in a whisper, "you are Marcello. But