Stone had taken the advice, and started off on foot. After lingering at the door for a few minutes, the specialist closed it and disappeared into the house. Very shortly the lights went out, and he reappeared on the steps. Seemingly, he, too, was going for a stroll, although it was nearly four o’clock in the morning by that time. Curiously enough, Follansbee headed in the same direction which Stone had taken, and, more curious still, a slouching figure emerged from an areaway, crossed the street, and flitted along behind the head physician of St. Swithin’s. The night had been full enough, but it looked as if other things were still to be crammed into it. CHAPTER XXIX. A STRANGE DEVELOPMENT. Doctor Stephen Follansbee walked along at a slow pace, but his movements were not characteristic. His hands were not folded behind him, and his head was erect, as if he were peering into the distance in front, instead of casting his eyes on the ground as he usually did. He had walked down Amsterdam Avenue for several blocks when a faint monosyllable issued from his lips. “Ah!” he murmured, and sightly quickened his pace. The young man who was keeping him in sight from the other side of the street—and who was evidently the same one who had opened the limousine door some time earlier—could not hear the ejaculation, but he noted the quickened steps and glanced ahead in search of a reason. Half a block beyond was a little group of men gathered on the sidewalk. When Follansbee approached, he found that it consisted of a couple of policemen, and the driver of a taxicab was bending over the figure of a tall man lying prone on the sidewalk. The physician had no need to do more than glance at the figure, for, as the policeman lifted the body, the rigid features of James Stone were revealed. Clearing his throat, Follansbee stepped forward. “What’s the trouble, officer?” he asked. “Has there been any accident?” One of the men in uniform turned and looked at Follansbee in a questioning way. “I’m Doctor Stephen Follansbee, of St. Swithin’s Hospital,” the specialist went on. “Here’s my card. If I can help you in any way, I shall be only too glad to do so.” The patrolman took the card and glanced at it in the light of a near-by street lamp. When he saw the name and the string of letters after it, his attitude instantly changed to one of great respect. It was a name to conjure with in New York City. “It’s lucky you happened along, Doctor Follansbee,” the spokesman declared, making way for the newcomer, who stooped and seemed to make an examination.