Morning brought a long letter from Chris Henson to David, giving him in detail the result of her recent interview with John Rawlins. There was a postscript to the letter which David showed to Bell with a certain malicious glee. "A nasty one for our friend Henson," he said. "What a sweet surprise it will be for that picturesque gentleman the next time he goes blackmailing to Longdean Grange." Bell chuckled in his turn. The net was drawing very close about Henson. "How is Van Sneck to-day?" David asked. "Much better," Bell replied. "I propose to operate to-night. I'm glad to hear that your mother is going to be away a day or two longer." Heritage appeared to be ready and eager for the work before him. A specially powerful electric light had been rigged up in connection with the study lamp, and an operating table improvised from the kitchen. More than once Bell looked eagerly at Heritage, but the latter stood the scrutiny bravely. Once the operation was successfully through. Heritage would never suffer from hallucinations again. "I fancy everything is ready now," Bell said, at length. "After dinner to-night and this thing will be done. Then the story will be told--" "Mr. Reginald Henson to see you, sir." A servant looked in with this information and a card on a tray. There was a slight commotion outside, the vision of a partially-wrecked bicycle on the path, and a dusty figure in the hall with his head in his hand. "The gentleman has met with an accident, sir," the parlourmaid said. Henson seemed to be knocked about a great deal. He was riding down the terrace, he said, when suddenly he ran over a dog, and-- "What sort of a dog?" Bell snapped out. "What colour and size?" Henson was utterly taken aback by the suddenness of the question. He gasped and stammered. He could not have told Bell more plainly that the "accident" was an artistic fake. "You must stay here till you feel all right again," David suggested. "Stay here for the night," Bell growled, _sotto voce._ "Stay here till to-morrow morning and hear something from Van Sneck's lips that will finish his interesting career for some time. Medical treatment be hanged. A clothes-brush and some soap and water are all the physic that he requires." Presently Henson professed himself to be better. His superficial injuries he bore with a manly fortitude quite worthy of his high reputation. He could afford to smile at them. But he feared that there was something internal of a sufficiently serious nature. Every time he moved he suffered exquisite agony. He smiled in a faint kind of way. Bell watched him as a cat watches a mouse. And he could read a deeper purpose behind that soft, caressing manner. What it was he did not know, but he meant to find out before the day was passed. "Hadn't we better send him to the hospital?" David suggested. "What for?" was Bell's brutal response. "There's nothing whatever the matter with the man." "But he has every appearance of great pain."