After her aunt and Helen Brabazon between them had put her to bed, and he had come in, alone, to see how she was, she had said abruptly: "I wonder if it's true that doctors can keep a secret better than most men ?" And when he had made some joking answer, she had asked, in a very serious tone: "You're a great friend of Lionel Varick, eh ?" He had answered: "Men don't vow eternal friendships in the way I'm told young ladies do; but, yes, I hope I am a great friend of Lionel Varick's.

I've a high opinion of him, Miss Bubbles, and I've seen him under circumstances that test a man." She had looked at him fixedly while he said these words, and then she had opened and shut her eyes in a very odd way.

He now asked himself if it was probable--possible--conceivable--that she blamed Varick for her accident?
He, Varick, evidently thought so.
And then, as he walked along the darkened corridor, there came over Dr.
Panton a most extraordinary feeling--_a feeling that he was not alone._ He stayed his steps, and listened intently.

But the only sound he heard was the ticking of a clock.

He walked on, and all at once there came a word repeated twice, quite distinctly, almost as if in his ear.