“I tell you I’ll do nothing of the kind!  Why, confound you, it’s nothing less than a conspiracy that you’re proposing!”

Miss Bellingham—­as I assumed her to be—­stepped quickly across the floor, flushing angrily, as well she might; but, as she reached the door, it flew open and a small, spruce, middle-aged man burst into the room.

“Your father is mad, Ruth!” he exclaimed; “absolutely stark mad!  And I refuse to hold any further communication with him.”

“The present interview was not of his seeking,” Miss Bellingham replied coldly.

“No, it was not,” was the wrathful rejoinder; “it was my mistaken generosity.  But there—­what is the use of talking?  I’ve done my best for you and I’ll do no more.  Don’t trouble to let me out; I can find my way.  Good morning.”  With a stiff bow and a quick glance at me, the speaker strode out of the room, banging the door after him.

“I must apologise for this extraordinary reception,” said Miss Bellingham; “but I believe medical men are not easily astonished.  I will introduce you to your patient now.”  She opened the door and, as I followed her into the adjoining room, she said:  “Here is another visitor for you, dear.  Doctor—­”

“Berkeley,” said I.  “I am acting for my friend Doctor Barnard.”

The invalid, a fine-looking man of about fifty-five, who sat propped up in bed with a pile of pillows, held out an excessively shaky hand, which I grasped cordially, making a mental note of the tremor.

“How do you do, sir?” said Mr. Bellingham.  “I hope Doctor Barnard is not ill.”

“Oh, no,” I answered; “he has gone for a trip down the Mediterranean on a currant ship.  The chance occurred rather suddenly, and I bustled him off before he had time to change his mind.  Hence my rather unceremonious appearance, which I hope you will forgive.”

“Not at all,” was the hearty response.  “I’m delighted to hear that you sent him off; he wanted a holiday, poor man.  And I am delighted to make your acquaintance, too.”

“It is very good of you,” I said; whereupon he bowed as gracefully as a man may who is propped up in bed with a heap of pillows; and having thus exchanged broadsides of civility, so to speak, we—­or, at least, I—­proceeded to business.

“How long have you been laid up?” I asked cautiously, not wishing to make too evident the fact that my principal had given me no information respecting his case.

“A week to-day,” he replied.  “The fons et origo mali was a hansom-cab which upset me opposite the Law Courts—­sent me sprawling in the middle of the road.  My own fault, of course—­at least, the cabby said so, and I suppose he knew.  But that was no consolation to me.”

“Were you much hurt?”

“No, not really; but the fall bruised my knee rather badly and gave me a deuce of a shake up.  I’m too old for that sort of thing, you know.”

“Most people are,” said I.