a heavy spree, and ask to be taken care of until I am sober. Or I
could be a very good imitation of a man on the edge of a nervous
breakdown. I haven't been five years in the newspaper business
without knowing all there is to know about nerves. That's it!" he
cried. "I will do that! And if Mr. Bluebeard Svengali, the
Strangler of Paris person, won't take me in as a patient, we'll
come back with a couple of axes and BREAK in. But we'll try the
nervous breakdown first, and we'll try it now. I will be a naval
officer," declared Ford. "I made the round-the-world cruise with
our fleet as a correspondent, and I know enough sea slang to fool
a medical man. I am a naval officer whose nerves have gone wrong.
I have heard of his sanatorium through----" "How," asked Ford
sharply, "have I heard of his sanatorium?"

"You saw his advertisement in the DAILY WORLD," prompted Cuthbert.
"'Home of convalescents; mental and nervous troubles cured.'"

"And," continued Ford, "I have come to him for rest and treatment.
My name is Lieutenant Henry Grant. I arrived in London two weeks
ago on the MAURETANIA. But my name was not on the passenger-list,
because I did not want the Navy Department to know I was taking my
leave abroad. I have been stopping at my own address in Jermyn
Street, and my references are yourself, the Embassy, and my
landlord. You will telephone him at once that, if any one asks
after Henry Grant, he is to say what you tell him to say. And if
any one sends for Henry Grant's clothes, he is to send MY clothes."

"But you don't expect to be in there as long as that?" exclaimed
Cuthbert.