night these two were sitting over a comfortable fire in Sherlaw’s room. Twelve o’clock struck, Escott finished the remains of something in a tumbler, rose, and yawned sleepily.

“Time to turn in, young man,” said he.

“Time to turn in, young man,”

“I suppose it is,” replied Sherlaw, a very pleasant and boyish young gentleman. “Hullo! What’s that? A cab?”

“I suppose it is,”

“Hullo! What’s that? A cab?”

They both listened, and some way off they could just pick out a sound like wheels upon gravel.

“It’s very late for any one to be coming in,” said Escott.

“It’s very late for any one to be coming in,”

The sound grew clearer and more unmistakably like a cab rattling quickly up the drive.

“It is a cab,” said Sherlaw.

“It is a cab,”

They heard it draw up before the front door, and then there came a pause.

“Who the deuce can it be?” muttered Escott.

“Who the deuce can it be?”

In a few minutes there came a knock at the door, and a servant entered.

“A new case, sir. Want’s to see Dr Congleton particular.”

“A new case, sir. Want’s to see Dr Congleton particular.”

“A man or a woman?”

“A man or a woman?”

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