The cool running water passed over his fevered and wasted body. There was ample time for everything. A servant brought him a house-gown and slippers. Ti Kung’s barber was waiting. A little helpful drink was brought from time to time, not too often, and just a touch. Ti Kung was waiting for him below. Romney had found a fineness of comprehension in the Chinese that he had not revelled in from any man for months. It was almost like a woman’s. It liberated the better parts of him, but he was ill and fagged to the core. He looked forward to a long, clean night. First he would go back to the fountain place. He would think of that Longstruth’s night before he slept.... Ti Kung showed him his room, opened the door, led him to the window of the low-lit chamber. From the casement he pointed out the stars and the lower lights of the distant shipping. "I’ll be away tomorrow," he said, "but shall return for dinner. You may rest and read. You may go to the city; there is a carriage. There are books; there are servants who understand English. Forgive me, I always forget that you speak our language; in short, anything you may wish. If convenient, be here for dinner at eight to-morrow. If you have another appointment, of course, I can wait—" "I’ll be here," Romney said. ... It was not until the door was shut that he saw the gleam of glass and the half-open door of a walnut cabinet against the wall. He understood all that it meant before he took a step toward it. He wished that Ti Kung had spared him this hospitality.... It was very complete, even to importations from America, even to certain brands that he had not seen for years. There was crystal, silverware, napkins, and this that was covered on the table clinked with ice as he touched it. He was dry and tense. Everything had been designed to turn him loose, even the departure of his host. Romney thought of the words of Dr. Ti Kung in the examination cell: "I will tell you in three days." He laughed softly. "And what he will tell me in three days hangs imperatively upon this most perfect cabinet. Romney, here’s a ripe chance to use your head. You are allowed one respectable _touch_. You may choose your poison—but just one." He measured out a portion by no means of a size that a man is inclined to seize with his last dime, drank it with discretion and without water. Then he stared awhile at the stars and the shipping, took a long drink from the water-pitcher, and went to bed.