"It's a new patient," he whispered. "I thought I'd bring him
round myself; then he couldn't slip away. There he is, all safe
and sound. I must go now, Doctor; I have my dooties, just the
same as you." And off he went, this trusty tout, without even
giving me time to thank him.

I entered my consulting-room and found a gentleman seated by the
table. He was quietly dressed in a suit of heather tweed with a
soft cloth cap which he had laid down upon my books. Round one of
his hands he had a handkerchief wrapped, which was mottled all
over with bloodstains. He was young, not more than
five-and-twenty, I should say, with a strong, masculine face; but
he was exceedingly pale and gave me the impression of a man who
was suffering from some strong agitation, which it took all his
strength of mind to control.

"I am sorry to knock you up so early, Doctor," said he, "but I
have had a very serious accident during the night. I came in by
train this morning, and on inquiring at Paddington as to where I
might find a doctor, a worthy fellow very kindly escorted me
here. I gave the maid a card, but I see that she has left it upon
the side-table."

I took it up and glanced at it. "Mr. Victor Hatherley, hydraulic
engineer, 16A, Victoria Street (3rd floor)." That was the name,
style, and abode of my morning visitor. "I regret that I have
kept you waiting," said I, sitting down in my library-chair. "You
are fresh from a night journey, I understand, which is in itself
a monotonous occupation."