Puzzled, I took the flimsy paper and read the words written thereon, as follows:-- "We are to-day in receipt of following telegram from our Vancouver branch--`Inform Wilford Heaton that Charles Mawson, Dawson City, has struck it seven dollars to pan.' Bank of British North America, London." Such a message was utterly unintelligible to me. "Well?" I inquired, raising my eyes and looking at him, surprised. "I don't see why this Charles Mawson, whoever he is, need hasten to tell me that. What does it matter to me?" "Matter? My dear sir? Matter?" he cried, staring at me, as though in wonder. "There must, I think, be something the matter with you." "Well, perhaps you'll kindly explain what it means?" I said, "I have, I assure you, no idea." "Why, it means," he said, his face betraying his intense excitement--"it means that Woodford's report is correct, that there is, after all, rich gold on the concession; in short, that, being owner of one of the most valuable placer concessions, you are a millionaire!" "That's all very interesting," I remarked with a smile, while he stood staring at me in abject wonder. "I fear," he said, "that you're not quite yourself to-day. The injury to your head has possibly affected you." "No, it hasn't," I snapped quickly. "I'm quite as clear-headed as you are." "Then I should have thought that to any man in his sane senses such a telegram as that would have been extremely gratifying," he observed. "Now, tell me," I said; "do you know who I am?" "I think I do. You are Mr Wilford Heaton." "And you tell me that I'm a millionaire?" "I do, most certainly." "Then, much as I regret to be compelled to say it, young man," I answered, "I am of opinion that you're a confounded liar." "But Mawson has struck the gold seven dollars to the pan," he pointed out in protest. "Well, what in the name of Fortune has it to do with me if he's struck it a thousand dollars to the handful?" I cried. "I should be inclined to say it had a great deal to do with you as holder of the concession," he answered quite coolly. "Oh, bother the concession," I said hastily. "I don't understand anything whatever about it, and, what's more, I don't want to be worried over any mining swindles." Then I added, sinking into the padded chair before the writing-table. "You seem to know all about me. Tell me, now--what's your name?" "My name?" he echoed, staring at me blankly, as though utterly puzzled. "Well, I thought you knew it long ago. I'm Gedge--Reginald Gedge." "And what are you, pray?" "I'm your secretary." "My secretary!" I echoed, gasping in amazement. Then I added, "Look here, you're trying to mislead me, all of you. I have no secretary-- I've never had one. All this chatter about mines and concessions and such things is pure and simple rubbish." "Very well," he answered with a slight sigh. "If you would have it so it must be. Britten has already said that you are somewhat confused after your accident."