slightest symptom of returning consciousness. Having examined him
narrowly for a moment or two, he turned to Ducie.

"You must pardon me, sir, for leaving you alone," he said, "but I must
now take my master off to bed. He will scarcely wake up for conversation
to-night."

"Proceed as though I were not here," said Ducie. "I will just finish
this weed, and then I too will turn in."

Platzoff's private rooms, forming a suite four in number, were on the
ground floor of Bon Repos. From the main corridor the first that you
entered was the smoking-room already described. Next to that was the
dressing-room, from which you passed into the bed-room. The last of the
four was a small square room, fitted up with book-shelves, and used as a
private library and study.

Cleon, who was a strong, muscular fellow, lifted Platzoff's shrivelled
body as easily as he might have done that of a child, and so carried him
out of the room.

Ducie met his host at the breakfast-table next morning. The latter
seemed as well as usual, and was much amused when Ducie told him of his
alarm, and how he had summoned Cleon under the impression that Platzoff
had been taken dangerously ill.

Platzoff rarely indulged in the luxury of drashkil-smoking oftener than
once a week. His constitution was delicate, and a too frequent use of so
dangerous a drug would have tended to shatter still further his already
enfeebled health. Besides, as he said, he wished to keep it as a luxury,