I followed him past the remnants of my aeroplane, along the beach, to the group of villas. Close to them and to the beach was a sort of park or open garden, with fountains playing and carved marble seats set here and there along concrete walks between beds of flowers, shrubberies, and trim lawns, all canopied by astonishingly vigorous and well-grown ornamental trees. As we approached the nearest villa I saw a family group on its veranda, obviously parents and children; also I heard some one whistling “Annie Laurie” so exquisitely as to evidence superlative artistry. As we passed the entrance to the villa I was amazed to recognize Radnor, another classmate. But, as he ran down the steps to greet me, I reflected that there was nothing really astonishing in a man as opulent as Pembroke having as dependable a physician as he could engage resident on his island nor anything unnatural in his choosing an acquaintance. “Denbigh,” said Pembroke, “has dropped on us out of the wide blue sky. His aeroplane has been demolished, so he’ll sojourn with us a while.” “You don’t seem to need me,” Radnor commented, conning me. “I see no blood and no indications of any broken bones. Can I patch you up, anywhere?” “Not a bruise on me, as far as I know,” I replied. “Then,” he laughed, “my prescription is two hours abed. Get undressed and horizontal and stay so till you really feel like getting up. And not more than one nip of Pembroke’s guest-brandy, either. Get flat with no unnecessary delay and sleep if you can.” As we went on I noted that neither Radnor close by nor Mrs. Radnor on the veranda seemed aware of anything remarkable in Pembroke’s attire; they must be habituated by him to it or to similar or even more fantastic raiment. We appeared to walk the length or width of the village, to the villa farthest from the beach. As we entered I had a glimpse on one hand of a parlor with an ample round center-table, inviting armchairs and walls lined with bookcases, through whose doors I espied some handsome bindings; on the other hand of a cozy dining-room with a polished table and beyond it a sideboard loaded with silverware and decorated porcelain. By the newel-post of the broad, easy stair stood a paragon of a Chinese butler. “Wu,” said Pembroke, “Mr. Denbigh is to occupy this house. Show him to his bedroom and call Fong. Mr. Denbigh needs him at once. And tell Fong that Mr. Denbigh has lost all his baggage and needs a change of clothes promptly.” Without any sudden movement or appearance of haste, without a word, he turned and was out of the villa and away before I could speak.