hands and stared grimly into the fire--she had always come at night
and always alone. He had supposed her to be a Frenchwoman, but an
unmarried French girl of good family does not make late calls, even
upon a medical man, unattended. Had he perchance unwittingly made
himself a party to the escapade of some unruly member of a noble
family? From the first he had shrewdly suspected the ailments of Mlle.
Dorian to be imaginary--Mlle. Dorian? It was an odd name.

"I shall be imagining she is a disguised princess if I wonder about
her any more!" he muttered angrily.

Detecting himself in the act of heaving a weary sigh, he coughed in
self-reproval and reached into a pigeon-hole for the MS. of his
unfinished paper on "Snake Poisons and Their Antidotes." By chance he
pulled out the brief account, written the same morning, of his uncanny
experience during the night. He read it through reflectively.

It was incomplete. A certain mental haziness which he had noted upon
awakening had in some way obscured the facts. His memory of the dream
had been imperfect. Even now, whilst recognizing that some feature of
the experience was missing from his written account, he could not
identify the omission. But one memory arose starkly before him--that
of the cowled man who had stood behind the curtains. It had power to
chill him yet. The old incredulity returned and methodically he
re-examined the contents of some of the table drawers. Ere long,
however, he desisted impatiently.

"What the devil could a penniless doctor have hidden in his desk that
was worth stealing!" he said aloud. "I must avoid cold salmon and
cucumber in future."