you a sobriquet?"

"A what?"

"A name of familiarity," she explained, "used only by your family or your friends."

"Oh, a nickname! Well," he admitted, unwillingly, "my father always called me Tommy."

"Tommy! Excellent! I shall call you Tommy!"

"But I detest Tommy," he objected.

"No matter!" she said, peremptorily. "It will have to do. What is your profession?"

"I am a surgeon."

"Where do you live in America?"

"At Baltimore, in the State of Maryland."

"Where have you been in Europe?"

"To a clinical congress at Vienna, and then back through Germany."

"Perfect! It could not be better! Now, listen most carefully. The name of your wife is Mary. You have been married four years."

"Any children?" asked Stewart.

"Please be serious!" she protested, but from the sparkle in her eye Stewart saw that she was not offended.

"I should have liked a boy of three and a girl of two," he explained. "But no matter—go ahead."

"While you went to Vienna to attend your horrible clinic and learn new ways of cutting up human bodies, your wife remained at Spa, because of a slight nervous affection——"

"From which," said Stewart, "I am happy to see that she has entirely recovered."

"Yes," she agreed; "she is quite well again. Spa is in Belgium, so the Germans cannot disprove the story. We arranged to meet here and to go on to Brussels together. Do you understand?"

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