“I don’t know--to-night I guess,” said the other, vaguely. “Anyway, the doctor will be here to take my place and I’ll get some sleep. I’m nearly dead.” Mrs. Rooks was not disposed for further conversation and as the day progressed she grew more taciturn and irritable. When night fell, she seemed to be spending her time either at the door of the cottage or outside. Lois heard her walking under her window, talking to herself. She was dozing in her chair when she heard the doctor’s voice and was instantly wide awake. “You take the other, I’ll bring this one along. You can leave all the truck here. We may want to come back. I don’t think it is likely, but we may.” The room was in darkness when he came stamping in and flashed his lamp upon her. “You’ve had an uncomfortable day, but you’ve got your friend to blame,” he said. “You’ll be able to sleep to-night in your own bed, which is more than he will do!” She did not answer him; the reference to Michael’s bed was too cryptic to follow. “Clever fellow, Dorn, eh? Brilliant detective? He’s got all his wits about him, don’t you think?” Still she did not answer. “Oh yes, he’s clever,” said Tappatt. He was in a cheerful, almost a rollicking mood, and she guessed with a sinking heart that if Michael Dorn had come back, he had been outwitted. “Look at this.” He flashed his lamp on an object which lay in his palm. It was a heavy-calibred automatic pistol and she uttered an “Oh!” of surprise. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you, my girl. We don’t kill people, we cure ’em! That is what they are here for.” As he patted her shoulder, she shrank back from him. “No, I wanted to show you that, because it is Dorn’s. I took it away from him as easily as you might take money from a child. I just took it out of his pocket and he said nothing! And he’s clever.” “Is he dead?” she asked, and the question tickled him. “No, he’s not dead,” he said jovially. “Nothing so dramatic. I don’t kill people, I tell you. I cure ’em! He’s cured! The mania for investigation has been entirely eradicated!” Mrs. Rooks and her prisoner had, by this time, left the house. Lois heard them swishing through the undergrowth and saw a momentary flicker of light through the window, as the old woman sought for the path. “We’ll give them a start,” said the doctor, “and then we’ll follow them. Rooks is slow; getting old, I guess.” “Who is the other woman?” “A patient of mine,” said the doctor casually. “She’s got some strange delusions.” “Why did you tell Mrs. Rooks that I was mad?” “Because you are,” was the calm reply. “I have diagnosed you as suffering from delusions, with suicidal tendencies. And my diagnosis has never been questioned, my dear. And now, if you’re ready----?” “Why do you say that I think I’m the Countess of Moron?” “Because you do! I’ve put that in my case book and case books are evidence!” And he roared with laughter as if he had made a good joke.