342 
THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 
Tie was earning three hundred a year as 
manager to a rapidly-growing firm of paper 
merchants in the City, with every prospect of 
a “ rise ” ; he had a wife he loved, a child he 
adored, and a home that was the most com- 
fortable his imagination could compass ; he 
had a life policy for three hundred pounds, he 
had great nobility of character, and, finally, 
he was going to be a success. 
Paul Osmond was neither stupid nor 
inexperienced — but, like most men, he was 
prone to believe anyone who told him a 
pleasant thing about himself. That was all. 
For the rest, he was a quiet, conscientious, 
hard-working, average sort of Londoner, who 
did not look outside the radius of his business 
for profit and rarely beyond the horizon of his 
own home for pleasure. 
His wife was awaiting him outside one of 
the big women’s shops near Oxford Circus. 
She carried two parcels, which she handed to 
him, smiling. 
“ Always punctual, Paul. Do let’s have a 
taxi to the doctor’s,” she said. She was 
pretty and rather more modish than one 
would have expected Osmond’s wife to be. 
“ Tired ? ” he asked. 
She nodded. 
<£ Yes. It took me ages to find what T 
wanted — and there was a crowd. T hate 
sales — and like them, too.” She laughed a 
little. 
He signalled to a taxi-cab. 
“ Poor old lady. Have you got what you 
wanted, after all ? ” 
u Yes. Only the hat was dearer than I 
expected. Sometimes these sales are not 
worth going to. I’ve spent every penny.” 
She glanced at him, half-furtxvely. Osmond 
looked out of the window. She had spent 
more than she promised — one-third of a 
week’s salary more. It was a fault of hers- 
to spend rather more than they could afford. 
But to-day he was feeling too buoyant to 
make even the most moderate protest. Once 
or twice her extravagance had worried him, 
but now, for this time, at any rate, he would 
say nothing. Of course, that two pounds 
would have been useful, but it was not ruin. 
“ Did you come straight from the office, 
Paul ? ” asked Isabel, leaning back restfully. 
“ No ; I had an hour,” he said, and told 
her of the phrenologist and the chart. She 
looked pleased and squeezed his arm. 
“ Dear old daddy. They are awfully 
clever, those phrenologists. We’ll read the 
chart to-night.” 
The taxi-cab stopped outside the door of 
a house in a quiet turning off Baker Street. 
A brass plate on the door bore the name of 
Dr. Warr. 
Osmond hesitated for a moment. 
“ It’s a waste of money. I've a good mind 
not to go in at all. I never felt fitter in my 
life.” 
u Oh, but you’ve got the appointment. 
You ought to. You may feel queer again 
to-morrow.” Her voice was tired. “ You 
won’t be long, Paul. I will go over to that 
teashop and have some tea, and you can call 
for me there.” 
“ Very well, dear. I’ll try not to be long,” 
said Osmond, and stood watching her across 
the street. She knew he would. At the door 
of the teashop she turned and waved her 
hand. lie was proud of her. She knew that, 
too. Then he rang the doctor’s bell. 
It was nothing much. Recently he had 
suffered intermittently from a pain in the 
region of the heart, a little dizziness, and 
slight insomnia. He did not attach any 
importance to it, but he was a methodical 
man, and was very keenly aware of the import- 
ance of his health. There were Isabel and 
Doreen to be provided for , and as yet only that 
three-hundred-pound policy between them 
and want in the event of “ anything happen- 
ing ” to him. ft was simple common sense 
that had brought him to the doctor to-day, 
not nervousness. 
He was perfectly at ease while Warr — 
an enormously tall, stooping, haggard, jerky 
man of middle age — ran over him, almost in 
silence. It was not till he noticed a strange, 
unexpected tremor of the doctor’s big, well- 
shaped hand that he suddenly felt nervous. 
But Osmond said nothing ; he was of the quiet 
type. At last the doctor finished his examina- 
tion — it had seemed very long — and signed to 
him to dress. 
PTe dressed quickly, silently. The doctor 
walked to the window, looking out thought- 
fully, without speaking. And then quite 
suddenly Paul Osmond felt himself blanch. 
It came with a sort of physical shock, as though 
some live, fierce beast had sprung on him 
from behind. lie made a violent mental 
effort to steady himself ; in a mirror over 
the mantel he saw that his face was dead 
white. IJe heard his heart beating. Why, 
it was pounding, racing. 
“ Doctor,” said Osmond, with a queer note 
of appeal in his voice. 
The doctor turned jerkily from the window. 
Ilis hands still twitched with that odd tremor. 
Then he spoke. 
“ Are you of independent means ? ” he 
asked . 
