"Forty, perhaps. Forty-five, perhaps. Not more than fifty at the outside. Hair quite gray, but youngish face." "Where is this private madhouse, Bob?" "Sheldon. Forty-three miles from London. Population seven hundred and thirty. Two beerhouses. Shut at ten." "Has the establishment a name?" "Tylney House. Enclosed. Stone wall all round it. Easy to get over in one part. All the other parts, broken glass at top." "Character?" "Difficult to get at. Population has no opinions. I should say, damned scoundrel." "Why should you say so?" "Impression." "Is Dr. Peterssen always at home?" "Seldom. Away for days together. Comes back. Stops for a day and a night. Goes away again next morning." "Who takes care of Tylney House in his absence?" "Keeper, with only one idea. Liquor." "Does he take it at the beershops?" "No. Private stock. Keeps a dog. Savage." "Is anyone admitted to the house?" "No admittance except on business." "Do many people go there upon business?" "None. House like a prison." "Is it a large house, Bob?" "Largish. Room for more." "More patients?" "Yes." "Look here, Bob. I want to tackle this Dr. Peterssen in some way as yet unthought of, but before I do so I should like to make sure of a certain point. How is it to be done?" "Don't understand you." "Well, this is how it is. I am morally convinced he has something in his house to which he has no claim, and which I would pay a good price to get hold of." "Property?" "Yes." "Portable?" "Yes." "Any objection to say what it is?" "We're tiled in, Bob?" "Honor bright and shining. Unless you give consent, not to be mentioned outside this room." "Thank you, Bob. The property is a desk." "Buy it of him. My opinion he would sell anything. His own mother if he had one." "He would not dare to sell it. He would deny that he had ever seen it." "Might bring him into trouble?" "Yes. There are a lot of things hanging to the possession of this desk." "Spirit it away." "How?" "Get a patient in--a friendly patient. A child for choice. A sharp one it would have to be." "By Jove, Bob, you put an idea into my head." "Glad to hear it. Act on it." "You wouldn't mind assisting me?" "Anything in my power." "You are a trump. But you have been making personal inquiries in the village. If you went down again--supposing you consent to do what I want--you would be recognized." "Not at all. Disguise. I'd take Old Nick himself in, much less Dr. Peterssen and a parcel of clod-hoppers." (This was a long sentence for Bob.) "Try me." "Supposing I could find such a friendly patient--a smart little girl who knows her way about--would you go down and arrange that she should be taken care of in Tylney House?" "Delighted." "You've not heard of any cruelties being practised there?"