At her suggestion I strolled by her side through the pleasant grounds of the hospital, down into St. Malo, the busy streets of which were, however, entirely unfamiliar to me. Yet, according to the Sister, I had walked in them a number of times before. Still, I had no recollection of doing so. "I am taking you for your favourite stroll," she said, as we went down one of the steep, tortuous streets to the little Place Châteaubriand in front of the ancient castle, which, she told me, was now a barracks. Presently she mounted to the ramparts, and as we strolled round them, I admired the beautiful view of the sea, the many islets, and the curious appearance of the town. The tide was up, and the view on that sunny December morning was glorious. At one point where we halted my nurse pointed out the little summer town of Dinard and St. Enogat, and told me the names of the various islets rising from the sea, Les Herbiers, the Grand Jardin, La Conchée, and all the rest. But I walked those ramparts like a man in a dream. A new life had, in that past hour, opened up to me. What had occurred since I had accepted that bundle of bank notes from the millionaire's hand I did not know. I had emerged from the darkness of unconsciousness into the knowledge of things about me, and found myself amid surroundings which I had never before known--in a French hospital where they evidently viewed me as an interesting "case." I stood against the wall and gazed about. My habit was to carry my cigarette-case in my upper waistcoat pocket. Instinctively I felt for it, and it was there. It was not my own silver case, but a big nickel one, yet in it there were some of my own brand. I looked inquiringly at my nurse. She smiled, saying: "You haven't many left. Why can't you smoke some other brand? You always insist upon that one. I had so much difficulty in getting them for you yesterday!" "They are my own particular fancy," I said, tapping one of them upon the case before lighting it. "I know. But here, in France, they are most difficult to get. The other day you said you had smoked them all through the war, and even when you were in Italy you had had them sent out to you from London." That was quite correct. "Well, Sister," I laughed. "I have no recollection of saying that, but it is perfectly true. It seems that only this morning I regained consciousness." "Professor Thillot said you would. Others gave you up, but he declared that after careful nursing your memory would regain its normal balance." "Who is Professor Thillot?" "The great nerve specialist of Paris. The police engaged him to come to see you. He was here ten days ago, and he put you under my charge." I laughed. "Then I am still an interesting case, Sister--eh?" "Yes. You certainly are." "But do tell me more of what I am in ignorance," I implored. "I want to know how I came here--in France--when I lost all consciousness in a house just off Park Lane, in London."