The hallway in which he stood opened from Bond Street up a flight of stairs to the studio of a fashionable photographer, and directly in front of the hallway a young woman of charming appearance had halted. Her glance was troubled, her manner ill at ease. To herself she kept repeating: “Did I tell Hudson to be here at a quarter to eleven, or a quarter past? Will she get the telephone message to bring the ruff? Without the ruff it would be absurd to be photographed. Without her ruff Mary Queen of Scots would look ridiculous!” Although the young woman had spoken not a single word, although indeed she was biting impatiently at her lower lip, Philip had distinguished the words clearly. Or, if he had not distinguished them, he surely was going mad. It was a matter to be at once determined, and the young woman should determine it. He advanced boldly to her, and raised his hat. “Pardon me,” he said, “but I believe you are waiting for your maid Hudson?” As though fearing an impertinence, the girl regarded him in silence. “I only wish to make sure,” continued Philip, “that you are she for whom I have a message. You have an appointment, I believe, to be photographed in fancy dress as Mary Queen of Scots?” “Well?” assented the girl. “And you telephoned Hudson,” he continued, “to bring you your muff.” The girl exclaimed with vexation. “Oh!” she protested; “I knew they'd get it wrong! Not muff, ruff! I want my ruff.” Philip felt a cold shiver creep down his spine. “For the love of Heaven!” he exclaimed in horror; “it's true!” “What's true?” demanded the young woman in some alarm. “That I'm a mind reader,” declared Philip. “I've read your mind! I can read everybody's mind. I know just what you're thinking now. You're thinking I'm mad!” The actions of the young lady showed that again he was correct. With a gasp of terror she fled past him and raced up the stairs to the studio. Philip made no effort to follow and to explain. What was there to explain? How could he explain that which, to himself, was unbelievable? Besides, the girl had served her purpose. If he could read the mind of one, he could read the minds of all. By some unexplainable miracle, to his ordinary equipment of senses a sixth had been added. As easily as, before that morning, he could look into the face of a fellow-mortal, he now could look into the workings of that fellow-mortal's mind. The thought was appalling. It was like living with one's ear to a key-hole. In his dismay his first idea was to seek medical advice--the best in London. He turned instantly in the direction of Harley Street. There, he determined, to the most skilled alienist in town he would explain his strange plight. For only as a misfortune did the miracle appear to him. But as he made his way through the streets his pace slackened.