more, without even looking up, "The same tooth lost, he says? You
both had it drawn! And now another one aches in both of you alike!
How very remarkable! How very, very curious!"

"Well, that WAS queer," Guy replied, relaxing into a smile, "queer
even for us; I won't deny it; for it happened this way. I was over
in Brussels at the time, as correspondent for the Sphere at the
International Workmen's Congress, and Cyril was away by himself
just then on his holiday in the Orkneys. We both got toothache in
the self-same tooth on the self-same night; and we both lay awake
for hours in misery. Early in the morning we each of us got up--five
hundred miles away from one another, remember--and as soon as we
were dressed _I_ went into a dentist's in the Montagne de la Cour,
and Cyril to a local doctor's at Larwick; and we each of us had
it out, instanter. The dentists both declared they could save them
if we wished; but we each preferred the loss of a tooth to another
such night of abject misery."

Nevitt stroked his moustache with a reflective air. This was
almost miraculous. "Well, I should think," he said at last, after
close reflection, "where such sympathy as that exists between two
brothers, if Cyril had really been hurt in this accident, you must
surely in some way have been dimly conscious of it."

Guy Waring, standing there, telegram in hand, looked down at his
companion with a somewhat contemptuous smile.

"Oh dear, no," he answered, with common-sense confidence; for he
loved not mysteries. "You don't believe any nonsense of that sort,
do you? There's nothing in the least mystical in the kind of sympathy