"Your best course. Doctor, is to return by the Wilson boat to Hull. She sails this afternoon at four. Then go down to Leadenhall Street and, make inquiries--it seems a strange affair, to say the least." "It is entirely unaccountable," I said. "There seems to have been a widespread plot against me, with a single motive--the concealment of the murder of Beryl Wynd." "But in that case why not let me telegraph to Scotland Yard?" suggested the Consul, as the sudden idea occurred to him. "They would watch the house until your return. To-day is Tuesday. You'll be in London on Thursday night, or early on Friday morning." The proposal was an excellent one, and I gladly acceded. Next instant, however, the bewildering truth flashed across my mind. I had not hitherto realised my position. My heart sank within me. "Would that your suggestion could be carried out," I replied. "But, truth to tell, I don't know the house, for I took no notice of its situation, and am unable to tell the name of the road." "Ah! how extremely unfortunate. London is a big place, and there are thousands of houses that are outwardly the same. Didn't the servant who called at your surgery give you the address?" "No; she gave it to the cabman, but I did not catch it. Men of my profession take little heed of the exterior of houses. We make a note of the number in our visiting-books--that's all." "Then you really haven't any idea of the situation of the house in which the tragedy occurred?" "None whatever," I replied. A moment later a further thought occurred to me, and I added, "But would not the registry of marriages give the address of my bride?" "Why, of course it would!" cried the Consul excitedly. "An excellent idea. Return to London as quickly as you can, and search the marriage register. From that I'm certain you'll obtain a clue." CHAPTER SEVEN. MY NEW PATIENT. On Friday morning I entered the office of Messrs. Hanway Brothers in Leadenhall Street, and after a short wait was accorded an interview with the manager. I demanded, of course, an explanation why I had been shipped away from London in such a summary manner, whereupon he apparently regarded me as a lunatic. "I really had no knowledge of the affair," he replied, smiling incredulously. "Do you actually allege you were taken on board the _Petrel_ and kept imprisoned in a cabin by Captain Banfield? A most extraordinary story, to say the least." I told him of the inquiries made by the British Consul in Christiania, and added-- "I have here the captain's written orders from your firm, signed by yourself." And I produced the letter. He glanced it through eagerly, and then carefully scrutinised the signature. "This renders the affair far more mysterious," he exclaimed with increased interest. "The letter-paper is certainly ours, but the whole thing is a forgery." "It is not your signature?"