“Whether you are or whether you’re not, you’re to come over to May Towers,” said the princess definitely. “If you want to see a doctor, you can send for any one you like.” Greta elected for her own doctor, but he was out and not expected back until late that night. She ran her fingers down the directory of the profession, seeking a familiar name, and presently she found one and rang him up. Anita, renovating her toilet before the looking glass in the bedroom, heard Greta speaking in her sugary society voice, and smiled grimly. “If you please, Doctor. I wondered if you would remember me. It’s most awfully kind of you--no, only a little scratch. The wound has quite healed, I’m sure, but I should like to see you ever so much.” There was a click as the receiver was hung up. Anita smoothed the powder on her face, gave her large, shapeless lips a touch of a red, creamy stick, and strolled back to the dining room. “Well, have you found your doctor?” “Yes, Anita, I have,” said the other. “He’s a very nice man and he won’t let me go out if he thinks that it’s dangerous to my health. And really, I must consider myself, Anita, sometimes. I’m not at all well, and I’ve been thinking for a long time of placing myself in a doctor’s hands----” “Whom have you sent for?” “Doctor Elford Wesley. He used to be old Mr. Dawlish’s doctor----” She heard a growl like the sound of a beast and stared aghast at Anita. Her eyes were wide open; she showed her teeth in an ugly grin. “You brainless fool!” she exclaimed. “Why did you send for him?” CHAPTER XIX. CAPTURED Demoniacal, terrifying, she towered above the frightened woman, and Greta cowered and held up her hand as though to ward off a blow. “Get on the telephone, quick, and tell him he needn’t come. Invent any excuse you like! Hurry!” In a trembling voice Greta called the number. “He’s gone,” she said, and looked up at her mistress. “All right, hang up, you fool!” Anita was breathing quickly. New lines showed in her face; she looked like an old woman. “Send somebody down to the door and tell him he needn’t come.” “But, Anita,” wailed the other, “I can’t do that! I must see him, Nita. What a stupid thing you are! What difference does it make? If you don’t like him you needn’t show yourself. And if I send down a message like that he’ll be awfully suspicious! You remember how the police came just because my wretched doctor told somebody I had a gunshot wound in the leg?” There was reason and intelligence in this, and though the woman was quivering between fear and fury, she had no course but to assent, and when, ten minutes later, the doctor’s foot sounded on the stairs outside, Anita Bellini disappeared into the bedroom, but did not go beyond earshot. He was an elderly man, rather talkative and fussy, short and stout, with a cherubic face and short white side whiskers.