"I'm going to read Jomini," he said. "Ever hear of Jomini, Ruth?--nice name, isn't it? Joe-mine-eye." After that Captain Royal was less regular in his attendance at the billiard-room after dinner. He read in his bed-room; Ruth worked in the dressing-room; sometimes the door between the two rooms was open; and sometimes they talked. One evening Ernie, descending from a higher floor in the lift, marked Céleste listening at the dressing-room door. She saw him, winked, and tripped away. "It's a caise!" she whispered, making a hollow of her hand. "A h'iceberg's hot stuff once it begins to go." CHAPTER XXXVII HE DRIVES A SAP One morning, after Captain Royal had been at the Hotel two months, Ernie missed the familiar soft thud of his feet as he came up the stairs three at a time after his bathe. Ernie looked at his watch. It was half-past seven; and the Captain was regular as the seasons. He wondered what was up. The strange dis-ease which possessed him, whenever his thoughts turned to Royal, was on him strong. Then Ruth came out of the Captain's room. Her face, always grave, was graver than usual. The note of restraint Ernie had marked in it of late, whenever he met her, had given place to one of anxiety. "What's up?" he asked. "He's not getting up," she answered. "He's not well. Looks to me like the hot-chills." The sick man heard the voices outside. "Caspar!" he called. "Sir." Ernie entered. Captain Royal lay in bed, a touch of colour in his cheeks, his skin dry, his hair bristling, his eyes suffused. "I've got a touch of fever," he said. "And my head's stupid. You don't remember the prescription they used to give us in India. Quinine and--what?" Ernie was far too vague to be of any help, and was testily dismissed. He left the sick-room. The Captain's helplessness roused the woman in him and disarmed the jealous male. "It's nothing much," he told Ruth. "Only a go of malaria. He used to get it in India. Don't you worry." Later in the morning Madame visited the sick man, and summed him up with those fine shrewd eyes of hers that let so little escape them. The Captain was clearly running a temperature. Madame put her plump be-ringed hand on his lean one, and then rang. Ruth came. "Have you a thermometer, Ruth?" Ruth had--a legacy from Miss Caryll's days. In a moment she re-appeared with it, washed it, and put it into the Captain's mouth. Then she plucked it out, and took it to the window. It marked 102. "What is it?" asked the sick man. "It's a little up," answered Ruth, shaking the thermometer down. "What is it?" repeated the other. Ruth had not nursed Miss Caryll for two years in vain. "It's a shade over normal," she said. "Hap it'll be a bit higher this evening." Outside she told Madame. "I shall send for Mr. Trupp," that lady said, and telephoned at once.