The doctor looked up at him keenly, and then shook his head, and, with a troubled look in his eyes. "No," he said. "No--no--no." "Hah!" ejaculated Poynter, with a smile of satisfaction. "Mark Heath, father dear," said Rich gently, "Don't you remember Mr Heath, who went to the Cape?" "Heath?" said the doctor; "Heath--Heath? No--no," he added thoughtfully. "Glad to see Mr Heath. Friend of Hendon's?" His words were calm, but he seemed to wince. "No, doctor: I'm Hendon's friend," said Poynter, with a laugh; and he gave his hat a loving wipe. "Yes, Mr Poynter. You came to see me the day before yesterday. I remember--remember. I prescribed--" "That's right, sir; that's right," cried Poynter, with one of his horse laughs. "Is this man going, Hendon?" whispered Mark impatiently. "No, Mr Mark Heath, he ain't," said Poynter fiercely. "Speak lower if you don't want people to hear; we've got sharp ears in the City, and I'm not going." "No, no; Mr Poynter has come to see me," said the doctor, gazing in a frightened way at Mark. "Don't go, Mr Poynter. It's very dull here." "I'm not going, doctor. It's all right," said the unwelcome visitor. "You're going to set me right." "You'll excuse me--Mr Poynter, I think," said Mark; "but I have some private business to transact with Dr Chartley." "Yes, I'll excuse you as much as you like. I've got private business with Doctor Chartley, too." "Why, Mark," cried Hendon, "have you found out anything about your loss?" "Yes. No. Well, yes; I have learned something," cried Mark excitedly, and he glanced again angrily at Poynter. But the latter's unwelcome presence seemed to be ignored by all, in the intense excitement of the moment. For Rich threw herself upon her knees at her father's feet, and took his hands. "Father dear," she said gently, "I want you to try and remember something." "Yes, my dear, yes--certainly, certainly," said the old man, bending down to kiss her tenderly. "That night, you know, when--when you were taken ill." "Yes, my love, that night I was taken ill? Was I taken ill?" "Yes, dear; but you are nearly well now. Do you remember Mr Heath coming? Try and remember, dear." Poynter's face grew convulsed and angry, and he seemed to be looking about for some moral weapon with which to attack his enemy, but contented himself with a whisk of his handkerchief across his hat. "Heath, dear? This is Mr Heath, you say--Heath?" and the doctor's face grew troubled. "Yes, yes. Do you remember his coming to see you?" The doctor looked from one to the other, and shook his head. "Oh, father, dear father, for my sake try!" cried Rich. "Do you not remember his coming to you?" The doctor put his hand to his head, and looked wildly round. "No," he said at last. "No, I don't think I have seen Mr Heath before;" but the wild look was still in his eyes.