"Ah!" he sighed. "You don't know women as I know them, Boyd. You've got your experience to gain. Then you'll hold them in abhorrence--just as I do. They call me a woman-hater," he grunted. "Perhaps I am--for I've had cause to hold the feminine mind and the feminine passion equally in contempt." "Well," I laughed, "there's not a man in London who is more qualified to speak from personal experience than yourself. So I anticipate a pretty rough time when I've had years of it, as you have." "And yet you want to marry!" he snapped, looking me straight in the face. "Of course, you love Ethelwynn Mivart. Every man at your age loves. It is a malady that occurs in the 'teens and declines in the thirties. I should have thought that your affection of the heart had been about cured. It is surely time it was." "It is true that I love Ethelwynn," I declared, rather annoyed, "and I intend to marry her." "If you do, then you'll spoil all your chances of success. The class of women who are my patients would much rather consult a confirmed bachelor than a man who has a jealous wife hanging to his coat-tails. The doctor's wife must always be a long-suffering person." I smiled; and then our conversation turned upon his proposed retirement, which was to take place in six months' time. I returned to London by the last train, and on entering my room found a telegram from Ambler making an appointment to call on the following evening. The message was dated from Eastbourne, and was the first I had received from him for some days. Next morning I sat in Sir Bernard's consulting-room as usual, receiving patients, and the afternoon I spent on the usual hospital round. About six o'clock Ambler arrived, drank a brandy and soda with a reflective air, and then suggested that we might dine together at the Cavour--a favourite haunt of his. At table I endeavoured to induce him to explain his movements and what he had discovered; but he was still disinclined to tell me anything. He worked always in secret, and until facts were clear said nothing. It was a peculiarity of his to remain dumb, even to his most intimate friends concerning any inquiries he was making. He was a man of moods, with an active mind and a still tongue--two qualities essential to the successful unravelling of mysteries. Having finished dinner we lit cigars, and took a cab back to my rooms. On passing along Harley Street it suddenly occurred to me that in the morning I had left a case of instruments in Sir Bernard's consulting-room, and that I might require them for one of my patients if called that night. Therefore I stopped the cab, dismissed it, and knocked at Sir Bernard's door. Ford, on opening it, surprised me by announcing that his master, whom I had left in bed on the previous night, had returned to town suddenly, but was engaged.