"Bromides!" the word rang ominously on Greg's hearing. Otherwise dope. Strait-jackets had evidently given way to more efficient methods. "It's a very exclusive place," the clerk went on. "Steep. They say the board is fifty dollars a week, and up." Greg shook his head sadly. "That's terrible! However, I'll enquire," he said. Greg bought some cigars, while the clerk continued his gossip, but Greg learned no more to his purpose. Finally he saw Hickey making unostentatious signals, and went outside. Hickey reported that de Socotra had come out of 411 and had driven west. Pa Simmons had gone after him. "We must kill time for awhile," Greg said. "It would look too miraculous if we turned up one minute after de Socotra had left." "Well, we'll need gasoline before the night's out," Hickey suggested. "All right. Find the nearest garage, and fill her up." A quarter of an hour later Greg was ringing the bell of 411. His heart was beating fast. He had no idea of what he was going to do when he got inside, but left it to circumstances to dictate. The door was opened by a neat colored maid who suggested a well run private house rather than an institution. At first sight she gave a tone to the place. She was smiling and respectful, yet there was a guarded look in her eyes which suggested that they were accustomed to sights that she kept to herself. Greg asked for Doctor Tasker. "Doctor Tasker doesn't live here," she said. "He only has his visiting hours. Doctor Emslie is the resident." "I would like to see him," said Greg. As he stepped into the house, he observed that an arch had been cut through the party wall into the house on the left, thus throwing the two houses into one. He was shown into a rather luxurious office at the back in which a blonde, bearded man was working at a desk. However, the eagerness with which he looked up suggested that he was not very closely absorbed in his work. He was a handsome man, yet Greg instinctively disliked him. He was too fat, too red-lipped, too anxious to please. Greg's involuntary verdict was: "Too soft to go out and work up a practice for himself, so he takes an easy thing like this. This man would close his eyes to anything in order not to risk losing his job." Greg made up his mind that the truth would not serve here, and he essayed the role of the saddened relative again. "I have just learned that my poor cousin has suffered a nervous break-down and has been brought here," he said. "Ah!" said Doctor Emslie orotundly. "What name, please?" He opened a book on his desk, a sort of ledger. This was merely a bit of by-play of course, for he must have had by heart the names of all the patients in that little place. "Señorita de Socotra," said Greg. "You have been misinformed," said the doctor. "No such person here."