That evening after dinner, while old Blumenfeld played billiards with his guest, I marked. They played three closely contested games, for both were good players; until at eleven o'clock we all three went to the great drawing-room to bid the ladies good night. With our host I returned to the billiard-room, leaving Rayne to follow. Mr. Blumenfeld poured me out a whisky-and-soda and took a glass of port himself. Then a few minutes later he suggested, that as Rayne had not returned, he and I should have a final game before retiring. He had made about twenty-five when of a sudden he leaned heavily against the table, his face blanched, and placing his hand to his heart, exclaimed: "Oh! I have such a pain here! I--I----" And before I could run round to his assistance he had collapsed heavily upon the floor. In an instant I was at his side, but saw that he was already unconscious. I flew to the door and down the corridor, when luckily I encountered Rayne, who was at that moment returning to us. In breathless haste I told him what had occurred. "Good heavens!" he gasped. "Don't alarm the ladies. Find the butler and get him to telephone for the doctor in secret. I'll run in and look after him in the meantime," he said, and hurried to the billiard-room. I was not long in finding the butler, and quickly we went to the library and spoke to the doctor, who lived about five miles away. He was already in bed, but would, he said, motor over immediately. On our return to the billiard-room we found, to our relief, that Mr. Blumenfeld had recovered consciousness. He was still lying upon the floor, Rayne having forced some brandy between his lips. "He's getting right again!" Rayne exclaimed to the white-haired old servant, and together we lifted our host on to the sofa. He recovered quite rapidly, and presently he whispered weakly: "I suppose it's my heart! A doctor in Rome three years ago said it was rather weak." "I'm glad you're better, my dear fellow," said Rayne. "I was much worried about you. You were playing with Hargreave, and he alarmed me." "I'm cold," our host said. "Will you shut that window." For the first time I noticed the window, which had certainly been closed when we were playing, was open about a foot. Besides, Mr. Blumenfeld's glass of port, of which he had drunk only half, was now empty, two facts which, however, at the time conveyed nothing to me. In due course the doctor, an elderly country practitioner, arrived in hot haste, and grave concern, but as soon as he saw his patient he realized that it had been only a fainting fit and was nothing serious. Indeed, within an hour Blumenfeld was laughing with us as though nothing had occurred. But what had really occurred, I wondered? That window had been opened, apparently to admit fresh air to revive an unconscious man. But surely our host had not drained his port glass after his sudden seizure!