"This is all contrary to regulations, of course," he suggested.

"Well, it is," Cross admitted. "But I am an enthusiast, and one doesn't
often get a chance of chatting with a brilliant, erratic star like
yourself. Besides, our man is not in the hospital proper. He is in a
kind of annexe by my own quarters, and he scoffs the suggestion of
being nursed."

Bell nodded, understanding perfectly. He came at length to a
brilliantly-lighted room, where a dark man with an exceedingly high
forehead and wonderfully piercing eyes was sitting up in bed. The dark
eyes lighted with pleasure as they fell upon Bell's queer, shambling
figure and white hair.

"The labour we delight in physics pain," he greeted with a laugh and a
groan. "It's worth a badly twisted shoulder to have the pleasure of
seeing Hatherly Bell again. My dear fellow, how are you?"

The voice was low and pleasant, there was no trace of insanity about the
speaker. Bell shook the proffered hand. For some little time the
conversation proceeded smoothly enough. The stranger was a good talker;
his remarks were keen and to the point.

"I hope you will be comfortable here," Bell suggested.

A faint subtle change came over the other's face.

"All but one thing," he whispered. "Don't make a fuss about it, because
Cross is very kind. But I can't stand the electric light. It reminds me
of the great tragedy of my life. But for the electric light I should be a