“In the first drawer, the right-hand drawer of the chest of drawers.” He turned round to it. “That is, if they have not been moved. I put the packet there myself, told nurse it was something that was not to be touched. The morphia things are in the same place. I don’t know what she thinks it is, some new and useless drug or apparatus; she has no opinion of me, you know. I used to see it night and morning, as long as you were having the injections.” “See if it is there now.” He went over and opened the drawer: “It is there right enough.” “Oh! don’t be like nurse,” I said impatiently. “I am strong enough to look at the packet.” He gave it to me, into my hands, an ordinary brown paper parcel, tied with string and heavily, awkwardly, splotched and protected with sealing-wax. I could have sworn to his handiwork. “Why are you smiling?” he asked. “Only at the neatness of your parcel.” He smiled too. “I tied it up in a hurry. I didn’t want to be tempted to look inside.” “So you make me guardian and executrix....” “Margaret herself said you were to have them,” he answered seriously. “She didn’t tell you so. You have only my word for it,” I retorted. “Better evidence than that, although that would have been enough. How else did you know they were in existence? Why were you looking for them?” The parcel lay on the quilt, and all sorts of difficulties rose in my mind. I would not open it unless I was alone, and I was never alone; literally never alone unless I was supposed to be asleep. And, thanks to codein, when I was supposed to be asleep the supposition was generally correct! Thinking aloud, I asked Dr. Kennedy: “Am I out of danger?” He answered lightly and evasively: “No one is ever really out of danger. I take my life in my hands every time I go in my motor.” “Oh, yes! I’ve heard about your driving,” I answered drily. He laughed. “I am supposed to be reckless, but really I am only unlucky. With luck now....” “Yes, with luck?” “You might go on for any time. I shouldn’t worry about that if I were you. You are getting better.” “I am not worrying, only thinking about Mrs. Lovegrove. She has two children, a large house, literary and other engagements. Will you tell her I am well enough to be left alone?” He answered quickly and surprised: “She does not want to go, she likes being with you. Not that I wonder at that.”