exceedingly, and he looked at the doctor, whom he was beginning to
detest.

"Whose house exactly is this?" he demanded.

"This is St. David's Hall--the home of Mr. Miles Fentolin," the
doctor told him. "The young gentleman with whom you were travelling
is his nephew."

"Can I send a telegram?" Mr. Dunster asked, a little abruptly.

"Without a doubt," the doctor replied. "Mr. Fentolin desired me to
ask you if there was any one whom you would like to apprise of your
safety."

Again the man upon the bed lay quite still, with knitted brows.
There was surely something familiar about that name. Was it his
fevered fancy or was there also something a little sinister?

The nurse, who had glided from the room, came back presently with
some telegraph forms. Mr. Dunster held out his hand for them and
then hesitated.

"Can you tell me any date, Doctor, upon which I can rely upon
leaving here?"

"You will probably be well enough to travel on the third day from
now," the doctor assured him.

"The third day," Mr. Dunster muttered. "Very well."