conversation with Von Ragastein had unsettled him. Without knowing
definitely why, he wanted him back again. Memories that had long since
ceased to torture were finding their way once more into his brain.
On the first day he had striven to rid himself of them in the usual
fashion.

"Doctor, you've got some whisky, haven't you?" he asked.

The doctor nodded.

"There is a case somewhere to be found," he admitted. "His Excellency
told me that I was to refuse you nothing, but he advises you to drink
only the white wine until his return."

"He really left that message?"

"Precisely as I have delivered it."

The desire for whisky passed, came again but was beaten back, returned
in the night so that he sat up with the sweat pouring down his face and
his tongue parched. He drank lithia water instead. Late in the afternoon
of the third day, Von Ragastein rode into the camp. His clothes were
torn and drenched with the black mud of the swamps, dust and dirt were
thick upon his face. His pony almost collapsed as he swung himself off.
Nevertheless, he paused to greet his guest with punctilious courtesy,
and there was a gleam of real satisfaction in his eyes as the two men
shook hands.

"I am glad that you are still here," he said heartily. "Excuse me while
I bathe and change. We will dine a little earlier. So far I have not