“He mustn’t have it,” said the other, sharply. “If he is very insistent,” he added, turning to the sullen Mr. Wragg, “tell him that he has just had food. He won’t know any better, and he will be quite satisfied.” He motioned them out of the room, and then, lowering the blinds, followed downstairs on tiptoe. A murmur of voices, followed by the closing of the front door, sounded from below; and Mr. Gale, getting cautiously out of bed, saw Messrs. Harris and Brown walk up the street talking earnestly. He stole back on tiptoe to the door, and strove in vain to catch the purport of the low-voiced discussion below. Mr. Wragg’s voice was raised, but indistinct. Then he fancied that he heard a laugh. He waited until the door closed behind the doctor, and then went back to bed, to try and think out a situation which was fast becoming mysterious. He lay in the darkened room until a cheerful clatter of crockery below heralded the approach of tea-time. He heard Miss Miller call her uncle in from the garden, and with some satisfaction heard her pleasant voice engaged in brisk talk. At intervals Mr. Wragg laughed loud and long. Tea was cleared away, and the long evening dragged along in silence. Uncle and niece were apparently sitting in the garden, but they came in to supper, and later on the fumes of Mr. Wragg’s pipe pervaded the house. At ten o’clock he heard footsteps ascending the stairs, and through half-closed eyes saw Mr. Wragg enter the bedroom with a candle. “Time the pore feller had ’is water,” he said to his niece, who remained outside. “Unless he is still insensible,” was the reply. Mr. Gale, who was feeling both thirsty and hungry, slowly opened his eyes, and fixed them in a vacant stare on Mr. Wragg. “Where am I?” he inquired, in a faint voice. “Buckingham Pallis,” replied Mr. Wragg, promptly. Mr. Gale ground his teeth. “How did I come here?” he said, at last. “The fairies brought you,” said Mr. Wragg. The young man rubbed his eyes and blinked at the candle. “I seem to remember falling,” he said, slowly; “has anything happened?” “One o’ the fairies dropped you,” said Mr. Wragg, with great readiness; “fortunately, you fell on your head.” A sound suspiciously like a giggle came from the landing and fell heavily on Gale’s ears. He closed his eyes and tried to think. “How did I get into your bedroom, Mr. Wragg?” he inquired, after a long pause. “Light-’eaded,” confided Mr. Wragg to the landing, and significantly tapping his forehead. “This ain’t my bedroom,” he said, turning to the invalid. “It’s the King’s. His Majesty gave up ’is bed at once, direckly he ’eard you was ’urt.” “And he’s going to sleep on three chairs in the front parlor—if he can,” said a low voice from the landing. The humor faded from Mr. Wragg’s face and was succeeded by an expression of great sourness. “Where is the pore feller’s supper?” he inquired. “I don’t suppose he can eat anything, but he might try.”