“He left nothing!” was the astonishing answer. “He drove you here in a Studebaker--it was a Studebaker, wasn’t it, Nurse?” The nurse confirmed his statement with a nod; and: “In a Studebaker,” Dr. Barton continued, “at somewhere around ten o’clock. Dr. Perry was in charge and admitted you. You looked like a serious case, you understand. You’re not, but you looked like it. Who you were we found out from your cards, license, and what not. Then this dark horse in the Studebaker faded out.” “Faded out?” Barry echoed. “Precisely!” Dr. Barton inclined his head in solemn fashion. “Faded out. He didn’t leave so much as his best wishes.” “Do you mean you have no means of tracing him?” “None whatever,” the nurse assured him. “Dr. Perry told me he was a rough-looking man. I was on duty that night. And no one was more surprised than Dr. Perry when we learned that he had driven off.” “You see, it looked suspicious,” Dr. Barton explained; “and we have been manhandled by the police about it. I mean, there was nothing to show that you had not been assaulted and robbed.” Barry stared at the speaker unseeingly. He was thinking again. “Whoever towed my car to the garage,” he mused aloud, “will tell me where I was found--or where the car was found.” “I am sorry,” Barton declared, “but he won’t! The garage telephoned here the same night to say they had the car. We had a police officer on the premises at the time.” “Well?” said Barry eagerly. “A man driving a Studebaker towed the car in,” Barton went on; “said it was the property of Mr. Barry Cumberland and that Mr. Cumberland would settle with them for repairing it. Then he faded out.” “Leaving no name?” “Leaving no name.” “Was this last night?” Dr. Barton glanced at the nurse, smiled, and then: “It was on _Wednesday_ night,” he returned. “You were semiconscious for forty-eight hours! And now, stop talking. I’ve got my work to do. Stand by, Nurse.” “One moment!” Barry pleaded. “My father?” “Your father has been in constant touch. We advised him at once. He is downstairs now, waiting to see you.” CHAPTER III. A WEEK LATER “She might have stepped down from that painting!” said Barry, pointing to a reproduction of part of a wall of the great temple at Medinet Habu, above the carven mantelpiece of the library. His father nodded and smiled, but not unkindly. He was strangely like his son, except that John Cumberland’s curly hair was gray and Barry’s curly hair was brown. At the present moment Barry did not look his best, owing to the fact that a patch of the said curly hair was very neatly shaved and the corresponding portion of his skull decorated with unattractive surgical dressing.