like a studio, we met a tall, spare, polished-mannered man, whom I
quickly recognized as Doctor Murray.

"Is he any better?" blurted out Miss Grey, even before our
introductions were over. Doctor Murray shook his head gravely.

"About the same," he answered, though one could find little
reassurance in his tone.

"I should like to see him," hinted Kennedy, "unless there is some
real reason why I should not."

"No," replied the doctor, absently; "on the contrary, it might
perhaps rouse him."

He led the way down the hall, and Kennedy and I followed, while
Miss Grey attempted to busy herself over some affairs at a huge
mahogany table in the library just off the living-room.

Mansfield had shown the same love of luxury and the bizarre even
in the furnishing of his bedroom, which was a black-and-white room
with furniture of Chinese lacquer and teakwood.

Kennedy looked at the veteran plunger long and thoughtfully as he
lay stretched out, listless, on the handsome bed. Mansfield seemed
completely indifferent to our presence. There was something
uncanny about him. Already his face was shrunken, his skin dark,
and his eyes were hollow.

"What do you suppose it is?" asked Kennedy, bending over him, and