It had been an act of humanity to take the young man into medical custody, as it were, and it had been more or less necessary for the safety of the public, for Logotheti and the doctor had found him in a really dangerous state, as was amply proved by his attempting to cut his own throat and then to shoot Logotheti himself.  Sir Jasper said he had nothing especial the matter with him except drink, that when his nerves had recovered their normal tone his real character would appear, so that it would then be possible to judge more or less whether he had will enough to control himself in future.  Logotheti agreed, but it occurred to him that one need not be knighted, and write a dozen or more mysterious capital letters after one’s name, and live in Harley Street, in order to reach such a simple conclusion; and as Logotheti was a millionaire, and liked his doctor for his own sake rather than for his skill, he told him this, and they both laughed heartily.  Almost all doctors, except those in French plays, have some sense of humour.

On the third day Isidore Bamberger came to the door of the private hospital and asked to see Mr. Feist.  Not having heard from him, he had been to the hotel and had there obtained the address.  The doorkeeper was a quiet man who had lost a leg in South Africa, after having been otherwise severely wounded five times in previous engagements.  Mr. Bamberger, he said, could not see his friend yet.  A part of the cure consisted in complete isolation from friends during the first stages of the treatment.  Sir Jasper Threlfall had been to see Mr. Feist that morning.  He had been twice already.  Dr. Bream, the resident physician, gave the doorkeeper a bulletin every morning at ten for the benefit of each patient’s friend; the notes were written on a card which the man held in his hand.

At the great man’s name, Mr. Bamberger became thoughtful.  A smart brougham drove up just then and a tall woman, who wore a thick veil, got out and entered the vestibule where Bamberger was standing by the open door.  The doorkeeper evidently knew her, for he glanced at his notes and spoke without being questioned.

‘The young gentleman is doing well this week, my lady,’ he said.  ’Sleeps from three to four hours at a time.  Is less excited.  Appetite improving.’

‘Can I see him?’ asked a sad and gentle voice through the veil.

‘Not yet, my lady.’

She sighed as she turned to go out, and Mr. Bamberger thought it was one of the saddest sighs he had ever heard.  He was rather a soft-hearted man.

‘Is it her son?’ he asked, in a respectful sort of way.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Drink?’ inquired Mr. Bamberger in the same tone.

’Not allowed to give any information except to family or friends, sir,’ answered the man.  ‘Rule of the house, sir.  Very strict.’

’Quite right, of course.  Excuse me for asking.  But I must see Mr. Feist, unless he’s out of his mind.  It’s very important.’