"Try," urged Vanlief, "to tell me when this illness came upon you. Was it after your curtain-speech at the end of last season?" Wantage looked with blank and futile eyes. "Curtain-speech? I made none." "Oh, yes. Try to remember! It made a stir, did that speech of yours. Try to think what happened that day!" "I made no speech. I remember nothing. I am Wantage, I think. Wantage. I used to act, did I not?" He laughed, feebly. It was melancholy to watch him. He could eat and drink and sleep; he had the intelligence of an echo. Each thought of his needed a stimulant. Vanlief persisted, in spite of melancholy rebuffs. There was so much at stake. This man's whole career was at stake. And, if matters were not mended soon, the evil would be under way; the harm would have begun. It meant loss, actual loss now, and one could scarcely compute how much ruin afterwards. And he, Vanlief, would be the secret agent of this ruin! Oh, it was monstrous! Something must be done. Yet, he could do nothing until he was sure. To meddle, without absolute certainty, would be criminal. "What do you remember before you fell ill?" he repeated. "Oh, leave me alone!" said Wantage. "Isn't the doctor bad enough, without you. I tell you I remember nothing. I was well, and now I am ill. Perhaps it was something Orson Vane gave me at supper that night, I don't remember--" "At supper? Vane?" The Professor leaped at the words. "Yes. I said so, didn't I? I had supper in his rooms, and then--" But Vanlief was gone. He had no time for the amenities now. His age seemed to leave him as his purpose warmed, and his goal neared. All the fine military bearing came out again. The people who traveled with him that day took him for nothing less than a distinguished General. At the end of the day he reached Vane's town house. Nevins was all alone there; all the other servants were on the _Beaurivage_. The man looked worn and aged. He trembled visibly when he walked; his nerves were gone, and he had the taint of spirits on him. "Mr. Vanlief, sir," he whined, "it'll be the death of me, will this place. First he buys a yacht, sir, like I buy a 'at, if you please; and now I'm to sell the furniture and all the antics. These antics, sir, as the master 'as collected all over the world, sir. It goes to me 'eart." Vanlief, even in his desperate mood, could not keep his smile back. "Sell the antiques, eh? Well, they'll fetch plenty, I've no doubt. But if I were you I wouldn't hurry; Mr. Vane may change his mind, you know."