"Now take a dose of your medicine like a man," said the kindly physician, jocularly, "and another in four hours' time, it will re-make your nerves." Jones tossed the stuff off impatiently. "Say," said he, "there's another point I've forgot. You might go to the Savoy and get the clerk there, he'd recognize me, the bar tender in the American bar, he'd maybe be able to recognise me too, he saw us together--I say I feel a bit drowsy, you haven't doped me, have you?" Simms and Cavendish, leaving the house together five minutes later, had a moment's conversation on the steps. "What do you think of him?" said Simms. "Bad," said Cavendish. "He reasons on his own case, that's always bad, and did you notice how cleverly he worked that in about wanting someone to believe in him." They walked down the street together. "That smash has been coming for a long time," said Simms--"it's an heirloom. It's a good thing it has come, he was getting to be a bye-word--I wonder what it is that introduces the humorous element into insanity; that address, for instance, one thousand one hundred and ninety one Walnut Street, could never have strayed into a sane person's head." "Nor a luncheon on bills of exchange," said Cavendish. "Well, he will be all right at Hoover's. What was the dose you gave him?" "Heroin, mostly," replied the other. "Well, so long." CHAPTER XXI HOOVER'S Jones, after the magic draught administered by Simms, entered into a blissful condition of twilight sleep, half sleep, half drowsiness, absolute indifference. He walked with assistance to the hall door and entered a motor car, it did not matter to him what he entered or where he went, he did not want to be disturbed. He roused himself during a long journey to take a drink of something held to his lips by someone, and sank back, tucking sleep around him like a warm blanket. In all his life he had never had such a gorgeous sleep as that, his weary and harassed brain revelled in moments of semi-consciousness, and then sank back into the last abysms of oblivion. He awoke a new man, physically and mentally, and with an absolutely clear memory and understanding. He awoke in a bed-room, a cheerful bed-room, lit by the morning sun, a bed-room with an open window through which came the songs of birds and the whisper of foliage. A young man dressed in a black morning coat was seated in an armchair by the window, reading a book. He looked like a superior sort of servant. Jones looked at this young man, who had not yet noticed the awakening of the sleeper, and Jones, as he looked at him, put facts together.