it of oak, curiously carved, and most of it surmounted with a coat
of arms. The apartment was lofty and of almost palatial proportions.
The whole atmosphere of the place breathed comfort and refinement.
The only thing of which he did not wholly approve was the face of
the nurse who rose silently to her feet at his murmured question:

"Where am I?"

She felt his forehead, altered a bandage for a moment, and took his
wrist between her fingers.

"You have been ill," she said. "There was a railway accident. You
are to lie quite still and not say a word. I am going to fetch the
doctor now. He wished to see you directly you spoke."

Mr. Dunster dozed again for several moments. When he reopened his
eyes, a man was standing by his bedside, a short man with a black
beard and gold-rimmed glasses. Mr. Dunster, in this first stage of
his convalescence, was perhaps difficult to please, for he did not
like the look of the doctor, either.

"Please tell me where I am?" he begged.

"You have been in a railway accident," the doctor told him, "and
you were brought here afterwards."

"In a railway accident," Mr. Dunster repeated. "Ah, yes, I remember!
I took a special to Harwich--I remember now. Where is my
dressing-bag?"