McTaggart drew a breath of relief as the air circulated freely. His face was flushed from his hurried meal, his blue eyes bright with excitement. "I expect you do." He opened his paper, not in the mood for conversation, carelessly skimming down the news, his mind partially abstracted. But suddenly an exclamation broke, unconsciously, from his lips. He bent forward so that the light fell full on the sheet before him. For a paragraph had caught his attention. "_Tragic Fate of a Harley Street Doctor_." The headline was in leaded type. He read it through with amazement. It could not be...? Yes--it was! The specialist he had consulted about his heart four years ago. The great man was insane! The paper danced before his eyes... He steadied it and read on. The tragic scene was given in full where his confreres, hastily called in, had borne him off to an Asylum, their suspicions roused for some time past. A series of grave mistakes, of "strange and eccentric diagnoses," had led up to the final lapse of self-control. They had found him surrounded by his flowers, the room littered with fresh plants, playing like a little child--planning a garden on the floor. Beyond, in the dingy dining-room, were patients waiting and wondering. The horrible pathos of the affair shocked McTaggart as he read. But the memory of the doctor's words and his own curious case rose up, blotting out all other thoughts, as a strange conviction grew upon him. His "double heart"...? Was it possible that this was one of the "grave mistakes?"--a fantastic theory born of that diseased, already failing brain. He felt suddenly overcome. Tired from his earlier journey, with the bad news concerning Jill, and the hurry of the last hour, this fresh excitement was the climax. The colour faded from his cheeks. He leaned back and closed his eyes, unaware that the stranger opposite was watching him with grave attention. Roused by his sharp exclamation, the doctor's professional interest was stirred by the sudden pallor following the feverish flush on the young man's face. He had marked the brilliance of the eyes and the strained air of excitement about him, the attentive care of his valet, and now this sudden look of prostration. A wave of telepathy must have warned McTaggart of his scrutiny. He roused himself and glanced up, fired with an instantaneous resolve. "Are you a doctor?" he asked abruptly. So carried away was he by his thoughts that the strangeness of the sudden question did not occur to him at the moment. The other showed no sign of surprise. "Yes." He moved quickly nearer. "D'you feel seedy?" His voice was soothing. "Good Lord, no!" McTaggart laughed, slightly ashamed, collecting his wits. "You must forgive me--the fact is I've just read some astounding news that bowled me over--in this paper--perhaps you've seen it?"---- He handed the _Globe_ across, a finger that trembled slightly marking the famous paragraph.