This was Chadwick's manner of treating everyone. He ran a continuous flow of conversation, annoying his subject with the enforced silence; but from this silence Chadwick often learned more than if he had permitted him to talk. Inspector Chadwick could see that Carl had not come to him for just a friendly visit. Carl sat down heavily, and looked at the smiling, round face of his friend. He scarcely heard any of Chadwick's rattling greeting. "I thought I would--er----" Carl started to break into the Inspector's incessant flow of chatter. "Ask me to lend you five pounds?" Chadwick went right on talking. "There was a man in here the other day, had one glass eye, and one good eye. He offered to give me either one as security for a slight loan. You look like a sick canary. What have you been doing to yourself? I always said doctors were poor advertisements for their remedies. Try this brandy; it might put a little color into your face. Good idea there! I'll play doctor, and you be the inspector for a while. If this Crayton case keeps up any longer, I'm going to be a first-class medico anyway. You know, it's one of those very technical points; all about this and that. Practically have to understand medicine to get any sense out of the thing. Should be right up your alley. How do you like my American speech? Notice I talk more like an American than I do a loyal subject of the king? Need that effect. Been working on terms, tones, pronunciations. Oh, so much to change! How about having dinner with me?" "See here, Chadwick, will you be quiet for a minute, and let me talk?" Carl finally blurted out. Chadwick threw back his head and laughed, a hearty laugh that shook his broad shoulders and made his face redder than it already was. "Oh, so you want to talk? Well, well, fancy that! All right, Doc; you talk, and I'll listen. But if it's about me being best man at your wedding, that's off. I don't look right in formal dress. When is the wedding, by the way?" "Unless I get some help, there may not be any wedding." Carl looked soberly at him. "Help?" Chadwick laughed again. "What do you want me to do, persuade the girl to marry you? I thought you had already proposed." "Chadwick, did you ever hear of a religious cult known as Moonerism?" Carl ignored his friend's attempt at humor. Chadwick became serious almost immediately. "The Countess Donella Moonard?" he asked. "Yes. Ruth, the girl I'm going to marry, has suddenly been seized with a desire to become one of her followers. Chadwick, there's something uncanny about the Countess and her religion. You probably know more about her activities than anyone else in London. So I----"