The newcomer glanced at the body, waved us back, fell on one knee, stripped away the clothing from the breast and applied his ear to the heart. Then he looked into the staring eyes, drew down the lids, watched them snap up again, and then hastily opened his case. "Let's have some water," he said. "Then he's not dead?" I questioned, as one of the clerks sprang to obey. "Dead? No; but he's had a taste or whiff of something that has stopped the heart action." With a queer, creepy feeling over my scalp, I remembered the little flask half-full of blood-red liquid which Crochard carried in his pocket. But he had not meant murder this time; I remembered that Godfrey had said he never killed an adversary. The doctor worked briskly away, and, at the end of a few minutes, Simmonds's eyes suddenly closed, he drew a long breath, and sat erect. Then his eyes opened, and he sat swaying unsteadily and staring amazedly about him. "Best lie down again," said the doctor soothingly. "You're a little wobbly yet, you know." "Where am I?" gasped Simmonds. Then his eyes encountered mine. "Lester!" he said. "Where is he--Piggott? Not...." He stopped short, looked once around at the gleaming marble of the bank, fumbled for something at his side, and fell senseless on the seat. I have no recollection of how I got back to the Marathon. I suppose I must have walked; but my first distinct remembrance is of finding myself sitting in my favourite chair, pipe in hand. The pipe was lit, so I suppose I must have lighted it mechanically, and I found that I had also mechanically changed into my lounging-coat. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was nearly four o'clock. The top of my head was burning as though with fever, and I went into the bathroom and turned the cold water on it. The shock did me a world of good, and by the time I had finished a vigorous toweling I felt immensely better. So I returned to my chair and sat down to review the events of the evening; but I found that somehow my brain refused to work, and black circles began to whirl before my eyes again. "I told Godfrey I couldn't stand any more of this," I muttered, and stumbled into my bedroom, undressed with difficulty, and turned out the light. Then, as I lay there, staring up into the darkness, a stinging thought brought me upright. Godfrey--where was Godfrey? Was he on the track of Crochard? Was he daring a contest with him? Perhaps, even at this moment.... Scarcely knowing what I did, I groped my way to the telephone and asked for Godfrey's number--hoping against hope absurdly--and at last, to my intense surprise and relief, I heard his voice--not a very amiable voice.... "Hello!" he said. "Godfrey," I began, "it's Lester. He got away." "Of course he got away. You didn't call me out of bed to tell me that, I hope?" "Then you knew about it?" "I knew he'd get away." "When the wagon got to the bank there was nobody inside but Simmonds. Simmonds went along, you know." "Was he hurt?"