The vicar’s state of mind did not allow him to give much attention to Dr. Thorp, otherwise he could hardly have failed to notice that the chief medical officer of the establishment was in a state of suppressed excitement. “I am particularly glad to see you, Mr. Perry-Hennington,” he said. “I am afraid we are about to lose one of our patients under remarkable and tragic circumstances. He has not asked for the sacrament to be administered, but now you are so providentially here, I have no doubt he will welcome it if he is still able to receive it.” Dr. Thorp paused, but the vicar did not speak. “It is our poor dear friend, John Smith. For months he has been slowly dying. But the end is now at hand. And it comes in very singular circumstances.” Again Dr. Thorp paused, again the vicar did not speak. “I will tell you what they are. Our dear friend, in the course of his stay among us, wrote a stage play. It was given by him to Mr. Brandon, who gave it to Mr. Urban Meyer, the great American impresario, who has caused it to be played all over the world. And its success has been so extraordinary that it has been awarded the Nobel Prize for peace. But perhaps you know all this?” The vicar shook his head. “The whole story seems incredible,” the doctor went on. “But there it is. Further, I am informed that Dr. Kurt Christiansen, the great Scandinavian poet and thinker is coming here this afternoon to present an address on behalf of his Government. And he is to be accompanied by Mr. Sigismund Prosser, C.B., representing the Royal Academy of Literature, by Mr. Brandon, representing our own Government, and by a representative of the press. “Of course, Mr. Perry-Hennington, I needn’t say that not only are the circumstances very unusual, they are also extremely difficult and embarrassing. The first intimation of this arrangement was from the Home Office, saying that out of regard for the activities of a neutral Power, our Government lent its sanction; and that if the patient was able to receive this act of homage it was felt to be in the public interest that he should do so. But at the same time it was pointed out that it would be a further public advantage if the distinguished visitor was not enlightened as to the nature of this establishment, or the circumstances in which the play had been written. Well, I mentioned the matter at once to our poor friend, and I was able to reply that, although the patient was extremely weak and his death perhaps a question of a few days, he would gladly receive the deputation. “On the strength of that assurance the arrangements have gone forward. The deputation is due at Wellwood in rather less than half an hour, but I grieve to say that our poor dear, but evidently greatly gifted, friend, whose loss we shall all mourn deeply, is now losing consciousness.” “Losing consciousness.” The vicar repeated the words as if he hardly understood them.