“Thanks. But there is one thing before which I am an abject coward, and that is poison. Not ordinary poison--just going to sleep and not waking up again--nor even the fancy kinds which twist you up into an arch before they’ve done with you, but one particular kind of poison, the thought of which used to give me the horrors whenever I let myself remember it while I was in Thracia. Taken in small quantities, it doesn’t destroy life, only the mind--takes away a man’s memory, leaves him a sort of perpetual child, do you see? The knowledge of it is hereditary in one family, but for generations it has been at the service of the Scythian Government, and occasionally it has been used--not too often, so as to awaken suspicion, but just to get rid effectually of some troublesome person whose death might cause remark. All those years when I was practically the only barrier between Ernestine and Michael and a Scythian protectorate, I went in deadly fear of this devilish stuff. Of course I took precautions. Paschics and Dietrich were staunch, if all the rest of my household were traitors, but there was always the danger of the thing’s being administered in some one else’s house. I inquired secretly into the subject, and got some interesting information by bribing disappointed Secret Service agents, so that I had some faint idea of the nature and properties of the drug. Then I had an exhaustive list made of the members of the family that prepared it, and their various marriages, so that if I found myself in the neighbourhood of any of them I might be on my guard. In the last generation, one of the daughters married a Dacian named Gregorescu. Now you see why I knew my fate as soon as I heard the doctor’s name. He was at the house, waiting to receive me, and Mlle. Garanine delivered me over to him in the most matter-of-fact way. She herself returned into Dardania at once--on horseback, I presume, for the carriage could not cross the mountains, and was laid up in the Pelenko stables--and the two men with revolvers went with her. But we were no better off for that. The house was guarded by a small army of Dardanians, who kept watch day and night, though of course I didn’t find this out at once. My idea was to disarm the doctor’s suspicions by pretending to swallow whole the notion of the Thracian plot, and I harped on the subject till late at night. I pointed out that it could not possibly be successful, but that I would make it worth his while if he would release me at once. I appealed to his cupidity, his ambition, everything I could think of, and at last he thought it advisable to pretend to yield. He would think it over, and let me know in the morning, he said, and in any case I might be sure my captivity should be as pleasant as he could make it. I had refused supper, but would I drink a little glass of benedictine with him to show there was no ill-feeling? This was what I had been expecting, and I agreed at once, only thankful he had chosen liqueur