He wrote out three telegrams and passed them over.

"One," he said, "is to New York, one to The Hague, and one to London.
There was plenty of money in my pocket. Perhaps you will find it
and pay for these."

"Is there anything more," the doctor asked, "that can be done for
your comfort?"

"Nothing at present," Mr. Dunster replied. "My head aches now, but
I think that I shall want to leave before three days are up. Are
you the doctor in the neighbourhood?"

Sarson shook his head.

"I am physician to Mr. Fentolin's household," he answered quietly.
"I live here. Mr. Fentolin is himself somewhat of an invalid and
requires constant medical attention."

Mr. Dunster contemplated the speaker steadfastly.

"You will forgive me," he said. "I am an American and I am used to
plain speech. I am quite unused to being attended by strange
doctors. I understand that you are not in general practice now.
Might I ask if you are fully qualified?"

"I am an M.D. of London," the doctor replied. "You can make
yourself quite easy as to my qualifications. It would not suit
Mr. Fentolin's purpose to entrust himself to the care of any one