no hope of curing me... you don't understand... my will-power is
gone. The trouble is with my mind itself. I don't want to be
cured.... I WANT what's killing me. I want it now, always, all the
time. So before anything happens to me I'd better tell you what I
know so that our Government can make the proper investigation.
Because what I shall tell you is partly a surmise. I leave it to you
to judge--to our Government."

She drew from her muff a little pad and a pencil and seated herself
on the chair beside him.

"I'll speak slowly," he began, but she shook her head, saying that
she was an expert stenographer. So he went on:

"You know my name--Kay McKay. I was born here and educated at Yale.
But my father was Scotch and he died in Scotland. My mother had been
dead many years. They lived on a property called Isla which belonged
to my grandfather. After my father's death my grandfather allowed me
an income, and when I had graduated from Yale I continued here
taking various post-graduate courses. Finally I went to Cornell and
studied agriculture, game breeding and forestry--desiring some day
to have a place of my own.

"In 1914 I went to Germany to study their system of forestry. In
July of that year I went to Switzerland and roamed about in the
vagabond way I like--once liked." His visage altered and he cast a
side glance at the girl beside him, but her eyes were fixed on her
pad.

He drew a deep breath, like a sigh: