rug, falling headlong. Instantly the patient, an English army officer of tremendous physique, was upon him, kicking him in the face with his heavy, double-welted boots. Marcy, fearing that the madman might get hold of the eight-pound mallet, rolled over and flung the whole lot of instruments across the room; thereby he exposed the other side of his head, and the consequence was another terrific kick on the left jaw. With his mouth full of blood and broken teeth Marcy grappled with his man, dragged him to where he could reach a push-button, and held him until help arrived. The curious part of the affair lay in the fact that up to the moment of the fall the patient had been perfectly sane, talkative, and friendly. Marcy's sudden slip and defenseless position had simply unchained the beast in the man. It must have been an Homeric struggle, for Marcy[Pg 56] himself, though comparatively short of stature, possessed the most marvelous muscular development I have ever seen, his forearm being bigger than the average man's leg. When I add that, despite his terrible injuries, Marcy assisted that same afternoon at the operation (which in the end restored the patient to perfect mental health), it will be evident that there was little of the weakling about him; as I have said, I liked him from the start.

[Pg 55]

[Pg 56]

John Thaneford ate and talked but little during the meal. He drank several glasses of whiskey and water, and smoked a cigarette between every course. The cloud of his sullen temper was oppressive, and both the doctor and I felt relieved when he abruptly declined coffee, and announced his intention of returning to the sick room. The elder Thaneford still continued in a comatose condition, and really there was nothing to do but wait for whatever change might come; accordingly Doctor Marcy ran upstairs for a hasty look at his patient, and then rejoined me in the library, where coffee and liqueurs had been served.

Effingham had taken his tray and retired to the pantry. Doctor Marcy pulled at his cigar until it glowed redly; then he looked over at me.[Pg 57]

[Pg 57]

"You're Hildebrand of the 'Hundred,' I hear," he began abruptly.

"Yes."

"Consequently you ought to know of something that has been bothering me more than a little. Has it ever been intimated to you that there was anything peculiar about the death of your cousin?"

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