He strolled up and down the block for perhaps ten minutes, and at the end of that time his patience was rewarded. He saw the diminutive, sinister form of Stephen Follansbee emerge from Miss Worth’s and vanish into the vehicle, which promptly wheeled and made its way back to the city. When it had gone, Patsy sauntered slowly along the pavement, and paused for a moment in front of the gate. He was anxious to find out what kind of a place it was; and at last, putting on a bold front, he entered the grounds, strode up the walk, and rang the bell. A neat-looking maid opened the door to him, and he was led into a quiet waiting room. Patsy always had a story ready to fit the occasion, and it was generally the most plausible sort; consequently, he was quite prepared for the advent of Miss Worth herself, who proved to be a kindly-faced woman of middle age, gray-haired and stately. He informed the lady that a friend of his was convalescent after a fever, but that certain unavoidable noises in the neighborhood made him nervous, and it seemed best to remove him to a more quiet place. Patsy, it appeared, had taken upon himself to hunt up such a place, and, having been told of Miss Worth’s, had called to inquire as to the charges. His well-cut suit and his ingratiating manner had their effect. After giving him the information he asked for, Miss Worth volunteered to show him over the building, and Patsy spent fifteen minutes in going through the wards. It was soon obvious to him that the private hospital was a perfectly respectable place, and the well-bred face of Miss Worth herself justified the opinion that she could have nothing in common with the scoundrelly side of Stephen Follansbee. Presently the lady paused in front of a door and opened it. “There’s a new guest here,” she said: “a poor fellow who is recovering from the effects of the drug habit.” Patsy glanced into the room and noted that there were two beds in it. The one on the right was unoccupied, but in the left one lay the figure of James Stone. The ex-miner’s eyes were closed, and his hands stretched out on top of the coverlet were painfully clenched. “Our distinguished consultant, Doctor Stephen Follansbee, of St. Swithin’s Hospital, has made a special study of that type of case,” Miss Worth went on, as she closed the door. “The patient will soon recover, and meanwhile your friend could have that other bed. It happens to be the only one available just now.” “What luck!” thought Patsy. “It’s a good thing I took it into my head to come over here. I hope the chief will appreciate all I’ve done. Hanged if I can see how he thought he could handle this case alone.” Assuring Miss Worth that he would let her know as soon as possible of his friend’s decision, he left the building. He was on tenterhooks now to pour out the whole story to his chief, and as soon as he was out of sight from the hospital windows, he hurried to the waiting car.