“I must not delay you. My dear doctor! If only your hopes are realized. What happiness!” He slid out of the room. Reggie went to the table and picked up the glass of strychnine solution. From behind the curtain Superintendent Bell rushed out and caught his arm. “Don’t use it, sir,” he said hoarsely. Superintendent Bell was flushed. “Don’t be an ass,” said Reggie. He put the glass down, took up the bottle of tablets, turned them out on a sheet of paper, and began to count them. “Good Lord!” said Superintendent Bell. “You laid for him, did you? What a plant!” “You know, you’re an impertinence,” Reggie said, and went on counting. “I’ll get on to Mr. Lomas, sir,” said the Superintendent humbly. “Don’t you telephone or I’ll scrag you.” “Telephone? Not me. I say, sir, you’re some doctor.” He fled. Reggie finished his counting and whistled. “He did himself proud,” said he. “The blighter!” He shot the tablets back into their bottle, found another bottle and poured into it the solution, and locked both away. “Number one,” he said, with satisfaction. “Now for number two.” He went off to his patient and spent a placid half-hour chatting with the day nurse on dancing in musical comedy. But it was hardly half an hour before the Archduchess tapped at the door. Reggie opened it. “This way, if you please, madame.” He led the way to his room. “I have something to say.” She stood before him, fierce, defiant, and utterly wretched. “I can promise you that the Archduke will recover consciousness.” She caught at her breast. “He--he will live?” It was the most piteous cry he had ever heard. “He will live, madame!” She trembled, swayed, and fell. Reggie grasped at her, took her in his arms, and put her in a chair and waited frowning. . . . She panted a little and began to smile. Then faintly, softly, “No, no. No more now. Ah, dearest.” It was in her own language. She opened heavy eyes. “What is it?” “The Archduke has spoken, madame. He said--your name.” Then she began to cry and, holding out both hands to Reggie, “Let me go to him--please--please.” “Not now. Not yet. He must have no emotions. You will go to your room and sleep.” “You--you are a boy.” She laughed through her tears, and thrust her hands into Reggie’s. “I beg your pardon, madame,” Reggie said stiffly. The creature was absurdly adorable. “You? Oh--Englishman.” It was made plain to him that he was expected to kiss her hand. He did it like an Englishman. Then the other was put to his lips. He cleared his embarrassed throat. “I must insist, madame, you will say nothing of this to any one. It’s necessary the household should suppose the Archduke still in danger.” “Why?” A spasm crossed her face. “You are afraid of Leopold!” “And you, madame?” Reggie said. “Afraid? No, but”--she shuddered--“but he is not a man.” “Have no anxieties, madame. I have none,” Reggie said, and opened the door. Then, “She’s a bit of a dear,” he said to himself, and rang for his lunch.