“It is very good of you to see me, Lady Violet.--Dr. Cassilis is my assistant.” Another distant bow. “I have been called in as a physician in the case of another medical man who had the honour to include you among his patients, I believe--Dr. Weathered.” A bow in the affirmative, still colder, if possible. “I regret to have to inform you that Dr. Weathered has died--of heart failure.” A little gasp, natural enough in the circumstances. A gasp of relief in my ears, relief at hearing the death described as natural. A gasp of surprise, I could only hope, in the keen ears of my chief. “Dr. Weathered’s death was rather sudden. It is desirable for the sake of his family to dispense with an inquest if possible, but it has been necessary to make some inquiries into his affairs, and I have had to go through his appointment-book, the book in which he entered the names of his patients who came to see him, you understand.” “I understand.” Just a tremor, immediately subdued. “Naturally your name appears in the book among others. And it happens to be one of several that have numbers attached to them, as if for purposes of identification. If you know, or can suggest, the reason for that, I shall be very much obliged by your telling me.” Violet straightened herself up and spoke very distinctly. It was clear to me that she had prepared her answer carefully. “I can tell you exactly. When Dr. Weathered’s patients had to write to him about whatever he was treating them for, he gave them a number to use instead of their own names. The letters were confidential.” Tarleton’s face told me that he had grasped the full situation, as I had grasped it half an hour before. He looked at me instead of her, but he failed to hide his consternation altogether. “What is the matter? Why do you look like that?” the startled girl exclaimed. The specialist pulled himself together. “There is nothing the matter, Lady Violet. I was staggered for a moment at the thought of what might have happened if I hadn’t taken the precaution of coming here and questioning you. I will see that this correspondence is destroyed unread as soon as I get back to town. Unless, that is, it has been destroyed already. Dr. Weathered may have burnt the letters as soon as he had read them.” The explanation was not very happy. Poor Violet’s dignity forsook her as she realized for the first time that the outpouring of her heart, the record of her secret shame, were at the mercy of whatever stranger first gained access to the dead man’s repository. She did her best to keep her eyes from straying in my direction, but the half turn of her head towards me before she spoke to Tarleton was enough to tell me what she felt. “Do you mean,” she faltered, “that there is a danger of someone finding these letters?--someone who might make use of them?” I had not often seen my chief at a loss, but he was plainly put out now.