to give up this psychological business--at least until he was in a normal
condition again.

The restaurant, where we found Dr. Randall waiting for us, was one of
those excellent little French places which cannot be beaten until they
have become too successful and popular, when they almost invariably
deteriorate. Randall said he was delighted the professor had brought me,
and dinner was served at once at a cozy table in a corner.

"A patient of mine originally brought me here," said the doctor. "It is
rather a discovery, I think, and personally I prefer dining where I am
unlikely to come in contact with a lot of people I know. In recent years
we have improved, of course; but in England we still eat, while in France
they dine. Here we are practically in France."

Certainly more French was spoken than English, and the doctor spoke in
French to the waiter. Quarles's nervousness, which had been apparent
during the drive from Chelsea, disappeared as dinner progressed, and I
did not suppose a stranger like Randall would notice it. He would
probably form rather a wrong impression of the professor, would look upon
him as a highly-strung man, and would not realize that he was not in a
normal condition this evening. Randall carried his profession in his
face, but for the time being his medical manner was laid aside; nor did
he speak of the business which had brought us together until we had got
to the coffee and liqueur stage.

"I suppose you read the papers I sent you, Professor?"

"Yes, but rather cursorily," Quarles answered. "I think if you told the
whole story I should understand it better; besides, my friend here knows