They dined at the usual hour, and not long after dinner Lady Bude said good-night, while her lord, who was very tired, soon followed her example.  Merton and the millionaire paid a visit to Blake, whom they found asleep, and the doctor, having taken supper and accepted an invitation to stay all night, joined the two other men in the smoking-room.  In answer to inquiries about the patient, Dr. MacTavish said, ’It’s jist concussion, slight concussion, and nervous shoke.  No that muckle the maiter wi’ him but a clour on the hairnspan, and midge bites, forbye the disagreeableness o’ being clamped doon for a wheen hours in a wat tussock o’ bracken.’

This diagnosis, though not perfectly intelligible to Merton, seemed to reassure Mr. Macrae.

‘He’s a bit concetty, the chiel,’ added the worthy physician, ’and it may be a day or twa or he judges he can leave his bed.  Jist nervous collapse.  But, bless my soul, what’s thon?’

‘Thon’ had brought Mr. Macrae to his feet with a bound.  It was the thrill of the electric bell which preluded to communications from the wireless communicator!  The instrument began to tick, and to emit its inscribed tape.

‘Thank heaven,’ cried the millionaire, ’now we shall have light on this mystery.’  He read the message, stamped his foot with an awful execration, and then, recovering himself, handed the document to Merton.  ‘The message is a disgusting practical joke,’ he said.  ’Some one at the central agency is playing tricks with the instrument.’

‘Am I to read the message aloud?’ asked Merton.

It was rather a difficult question, for the doctor was a perfect stranger to all present, and the matters involved were of an intimate delicacy, affecting the most sacred domestic relations.

‘Dr. MacTavish,’ said Mr. Macrae, ’speaking as Highlander to Highlander, these are circumstances, are they not, under the seal of professional confidence?’

The big doctor rose to his feet.

’They are, sir, but, Mr. Macrae, I am a married man.  This sad business of yours, I say it with sorrow, will be the talk of the world to-morrow, as it is of the country side to-day.  If you will excuse me, I would rather know nothing, and be able to tell nothing, so I’ll take my pipe outside with me.’

‘Not alone, don’t go alone, Dr. MacTavish,’ said Merton; ’Mr. Macrae will need his telegraphic operator probably.  Let me play you a hundred up at billiards.’

The doctor liked nothing better; soon the balls were rattling, while the millionaire was closeted alone with Donald Macdonald and the wireless thing.

After one game, of which he was the winner, the doctor, with much delicacy, asked leave to go to bed.  Merton conducted him to his room, and, returning, was hailed by Mr. Macrae.

‘Here is the pleasant result of our communications,’ he said, reading aloud the message which he had first received.