I settled him in the biggest arm-chair, and took one of his cigars. The library is the pleasantest room in the house, and at night, when a peat-fire burned on the old hearth and the great red curtains were drawn, it used to be the place for comfort and good talk. Now I noticed changes. Ladlaw's book-shelves had been filled with the proceedings of antiquarian societies and many light-hearted works in _belles-lettres_. But now the Badminton Library had been cleared out of a shelf where it stood most convenient to the hand, and its place taken by an old Leyden reprint of Justinian. There were books on Byzantine subjects of which I never dreamed he had heard the names. There were volumes of history and speculation, all of a slightly bizarre kind; and to crown everything, there were several bulky medical works with gaudily coloured plates. The old atmosphere of sport and travel had gone from the room, with the medley of rods, whips, and gun-cases which used to cumber the tables. Now the place was moderately tidy and slightly learned--and I did not like it. Ladlaw refused to smoke, and sat for a little while in silence. Then of his own accord he broke the tension,-- "It was devilish good of you to come, Harry. This is a lonely place for a man who is a bit seedy." "I thought you might be alone," I said, "so I looked you up on my way down from Glenaicill. I'm sorry to find you looking ill." "Do you notice it?" he asked sharply. "It's tolerably patent," I said. "Have you seen a doctor?" He said something uncomplimentary about doctors, and kept looking at me with his curious dull eyes. I remarked the strange posture in which he sat--his head screwed round to his right shoulder, and his whole body a protest against something at his left hand. "It looks like your heart," I said. "You seem to have pains in your left side." Again a spasm of fear. I went over to him and stood at the back of his chair. "Now, for goodness' sake, my dear fellow, tell me what is wrong? You're scaring Sybil to death. It's lonely work for the poor girl, and I wish you would let me help you." He was lying back in his chair now, with his eyes half shut, and shivering like a frightened colt. The extraordinary change in one who had been the strongest of the strong kept me from realising its gravity. I put a hand on his shoulder, but he flung it off. "For God's sake sit down!" he said hoarsely. "I'm going to tell you; but I'll never make you understand." I sat down promptly opposite him. "It's the Devil," he said very solemnly. I am afraid that I was rude enough to laugh. He took no notice, but sat with the same tense, miserable air, staring over my head. "Right," said I. "Then it is the Devil. It's a new complaint, so it's as well I did not bring a doctor. How does it affect you?" He made the old impotent clutch at the air with his left hand. I had the sense to become grave at once. Clearly this was some mental affection, some hallucination born of physical pain.