The chest of drawers—­an incongruous article of furniture for what seemed to be a dining-room—­as being the nearest and best lighted object received most of my attention.  It was a fine old chest of nearly black mahogany, very battered and in the last stage of decay, but originally a piece of some pretensions.  Regretful of its fallen estate, I looked it over with some interest and had just observed on its lower corner a little label bearing the printed inscription “Lot 201” when I heard footsteps descending the stairs.  A moment later the door opened and a shadowy figure appeared standing close by the threshold.

“Good evening, doctor,” said the stranger, in a deep, quiet voice and with a distinct, though not strong, German accent.  “I must apologize for keeping you waiting.”

I acknowledged the apology somewhat stiffly and asked:  “You are Mr. Weiss, I presume?”

“Yes, I am Mr. Weiss.  It is very good of you to come so far and so late at night and to make no objection to the absurd conditions that my poor friend has imposed.”

“Not at all,” I replied.  “It is my business to go when and where I am wanted, and it is not my business to inquire into the private affairs of my patients.”

“That is very true, sir,” he agreed cordially, “and I am much obliged to you for taking that very proper view of the case.  I pointed that out to my friend, but he is not a very reasonable man.  He is very secretive and rather suspicious by nature.”

“So I inferred.  And as to his condition; is he seriously ill?”

“Ah,” said Mr. Weiss, “that is what I want you to tell me.  I am very much puzzled about him.”

“But what is the nature of his illness?  What does he complain of?”

“He makes very few complaints of any kind although he is obviously ill.  But the fact is that he is hardly ever more than half awake.  He lies in a kind of dreamy stupor from morning to night.”

This struck me as excessively strange and by no means in agreement with the patient’s energetic refusal to see a doctor.

“But,” I asked, “does he never rouse completely?”

“Oh, yes,” Mr. Weiss answered quickly; “he rouses from time to time and is then quite rational, and, as you may have gathered, rather obstinate.  That is the peculiar and puzzling feature in the case; this alternation between a state of stupor and an almost normal and healthy condition.  But perhaps you had better see him and judge for yourself.  He had a rather severe attack just now.  Follow me, please.  The stairs are rather dark.”

The stairs were very dark, and I noticed that they were without any covering of carpet, or even oil-cloth, so that our footsteps resounded dismally as if we were in an empty house.  I stumbled up after my guide, feeling my way by the hand-rail, and on the first floor followed him into a room similar in size to the one below and very barely furnished, though less squalid than the other.  A single candle at the farther end threw its feeble light on a figure in the bed, leaving the rest of the room in a dim twilight.