The evening world., 1915-02-06

"Wot the ell mikes yer fink of
Imf" cried Croucher. In q fury at tho
very name.
well, among other things. the fact
that he saw US OF In the car Just now.
DO you mean to say you didn't see
through the false beard Of the gen.
tleman who was picking UP his UNI
brella rs we turned into Wlgmore
Street,"
Never again did Alfred Croucher
venture out alone, even as far as the
pillar box; not another letter had he
to post, though no received one
wrapped round stone once when his
window was open and literally de-
voured every word. He did go out,
but only with the crime doctor In his
car for an hour or two In the after
noon.
More than once they got out at
Richmond Park. sent tho car across
to one of the other gates and followed
at a brisk walk, shoulder to shoulder,
with Croucher often peeping over his,
but Dollar never. The walk was
sometimes broken for AZ long as 1t
took Crouchcr to smoke a pipe In one
or another of the beautiful wooded
Enclosures which are the inner glory
Of the most glorious Of all public
parks.
There. under red canopies OF dying
leaves. their feet upon a russell oar
pet OF the dead, the smoker would
rest In a restless silence, because the
one subject which had made him elo-
Quent was now tabooed. Even In the
Chamber OF Peace there was no peace
for Alfred Croucher. and but little
sleep, although the doctor had walked
him of his legs and would sit beside
him till all hours. SO the literary and
conversational treatment had been
altered once for all: and now the
patient would hardly read or speak
q word.
Late one night in the second half
OF the month the crime doctor, seated
like q waxwork in a chair that never
creaked, had just made sure that his
man was asleep at last. He decided
to steal out and write some letters
and take them to the post himself be-
fore locking up. and was getting by
inches to his catlike feet when some
sense held him bent like a bow.
It could hardly have been his hear
Ing, In his own sound-proof sanctuary
between double windows and triple
doors. Yet suddenly he was all on
edge, listening with nerves laid bare
by forced vigils in that slumberous
room, brown as an Arab In Its weird
lighting; the silver patch In his hair
changed from a form TO new penny
the whites Of his eyes like broad gold
rings; their one flaw augmented b,
an infinite fatigue, their one care the
human wreckage on the bed-shat-
tered utterly by him, to be- by him
fxAS l.ttN aAN In IA VVnlh at
Of excursions and alarms. And here
was the Utmost door opening. &c
softly. SO slowly. at deadliest dead Of
night!
1t was a woman who entered like q
ghost, and he knew her step. though
he could not hear II even now. And
though her cloak and headdress vert
those OF trained nurse he knew
rather than saw. that the wearer wal
Lady Vera Moyle.
"IIush" she was the first I,
whisper, and very softly closed the
last door, through which he would
have hurried her out again. Already
her soundless movements. her air o
vast precaution. puzzled him ever
more than her presence or her dress
but he still had anxieties on this side
Of the door.
"Just asleep" ne whispered, point
ing to the bed. bad time I've glver
him, poor brute. but q better on,
coming. I do believs. Did you com,
TO see how he was going?" Even II
the stained light she looked so beam
ing now. so frankly triumphant, h
made sure that was II. "Id hav,
written, but thought you were away
Who let you inr'
"Thib!"
Ara aAs hsla . new ~.
"WAago ~ ~ ~ TT
s0IoaaHy - ~ 49, Dvosy1A