"Oh, my health is all right," said Jones. "I can eat and all that, but, times, I've felt as if I wasn't one person or the other, that's one of my main reasons for quitting, leaving aside other things. You see I had to carry on up to a certain point, and, if you'll excuse me blowing my own horn, I think I've not done bad. I could have put my claws on all that money--If I hadn't been a straight man, there's a lot of things I could have done, 'pears to me. Well, now that everything is settled, I think that ought to be taken into consideration. I don't ask much, just a commission on the money salved."

"Decidedly," said Simms. "In my opinion you are quite right. But as a professional man my concern just a moment ago was about your health."

"Oh, the voyage back to the States will put that right."

"Quite so, but you will excuse my professional instinct--and I am giving you my services for nothing, if you will let me--I notice signs of nerve exhaustion--Let's look at your tongue."

Jones put out his tongue.

"Not bad," said Simms. "Now just cross your legs."

Jones crossed his legs, right over left, and Simms, standing before him, gave him a little sharp tap just under the right knee cap. The leg flew out.

Jones laughed.

"Exaggerated patella reflex," said Simms. "Nerve f.a.g, nothing more. A pill or two is all you want. You don't notice any difficulty in speech?"

"Not much," said Jones, laughing.

"Say--'Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.'"

"'Peter Peter piped a pick--'" began Jones, then he laughed.

"You can't say it," said Simms, c.o.c.king a wise eyebrow.

"You bet I can," said the patient. "'Peter Piper pucked a pick'"--

"Nerve exhaustion," said Simms.

"Say, Doc," cut in Jones, beginning to feel slight alarm. "What are you getting at, you're beginning to make me feel frightened, there's not anything really wrong with me, is there?"

"Nothing but what can be righted by care," replied Simms.

"Let me try Mr. Jones with a lingual test," said Cavendish. "Say: 'She stood at the door of the fish-sauce shop in the Strand welcoming him in.'"

"She stood at the door of the fish shauce shop in the Strand welcom-om ming im," said Jones.

"H'm, h'm," said Cavendish.

"That's crazy," said Jones, "n.o.body could say that--Oh, I'm all right--I reckon a little liver pill will fix me up."

The two doctors withdrew to a window and said a few words together. Then they both nodded to the Duke of Melford.

"Well," said the Duke, "that's settled and now, Mr. Jones, I hope you will stay here for luncheon."

Jones had had enough of that house.

"Thanks," said he, "but I think I'll be getting back. I want a walk.

You'll find me at Carlton House Terrace where we can finish up this business. It's a weight off my mind now everything is over--whew! I can tell you I'm hungry for the States."

He rose and took his hat which he had placed on the floor, nodded to the Duke of Melford and turned to the door.

Simms was standing in front of the door.

"Excuse me," said Simms, "but I would not advise you to go out in your condition, much better stay here till your nerves have recovered."

Jones stared at him.

"My nerves are all right," said he.

"Don't, my dear fellow," said Cavendish.

Jones turned and looked at him, then turned again to the door.

Simms was barring the way still.

"Don't talk nonsense," said Jones, "think I was a baby. I tell you I'm all right--what on earth do you mean--upon my soul, you're like a lot of children."

He tried to pa.s.s Simms.

"You must not leave this room yet," said Simms. "Pray quiet yourself."

"You mean to say you'll stop me?"

"Yes."

Then in a flash he knew. These men had not been sent for to attend the Dowager Countess of Rochester, they were alienists, and they considered him to be Rochester--Rochester gone mad.

Right from the first start of his confession he had been taken for a mad man, that was why Venetia had said nothing, that was why the old lady had fainted, that was why his wife--at least Rochester's wife, had run from the room like a blind woman.

He stood appalled for a moment, before this self-evident fact. Then he spoke:

"Open that door--get away from that door."

"Sit down and _quiet_ yourself," said Simms, staring him full in the eye, "you--will--not--leave-this--house."

It was Simms who sat down, flung away by Jones.

Then Cavendish pinioned him from behind, the Duke of Melford shouted directions, Simms scrambled to his feet, and Jones, having won free of Cavendish, the rough and tumble began.

They fought all over the drawing-room, upsetting jardinieres, little tables, costly china.

Jones' foot went into a china cabinet carrying destruction amongst a concert party of little Dresden figures; Simms' portly behind b.u.mped against a pedestal, bearing a portrait bust of the nineteenth Countess of Rochester, upsetting pedestal and smashing bust, and the Duke of Melford, fine old sportsman that he was, a.s.sisting in the business with the activity of a boy of eighteen, received a kick in the shin that recalled Eton across a long vista of years.

Then at last they had him down on a sofa, his hands tied behind his back with the Duke's bandanna handkerchief.

Jones had uttered no cry, the others no sound, but the b.u.mping and banging and smashing had been heard all over the house. A tap came to the door and a voice. The Duke rushed to the door and opened it.

"Nothing," said he, "nothing wrong. Off with you."