“I should like to hear them,” she answered, taking the chair he reached for her.  “You see, I shall have a good deal to do with him.”

Old Dr. Pond nodded.  “Mary,” he said, “is my right hand, Professor.”

“Of course,” agreed the Professor.  “I can see that.”

He was seated again, and he leaned across to Mary confidentially, with an explanatory forefinger hovering.

“As I told your father, Miss Pond, it isn’t necessary to go far back in the case,” he said.  “As a matter of fact, I took this case up—­ experimentally.  The subject was a good one for a—­well, call it a theory of mine, a new idea in pathology.  You see?  I wanted to try it on the dog before publishing it, and our young friend there”—­he nodded at the back of the room and sank his voice—­“he was the dog.  You understand?”

Mary nodded, and the Professor smiled.

“Well,” he said, “I have succeeded.  The patient is convalescent, but—­you see how he is.  He has very little vital force, and also, occasionally, delusions.  Merely ephemeral, you know, but delusions.  He wants quiet chiefly, and very little else—­just that atmosphere of repose and—­er—­peace which you can create for him, Miss Pond.”

“These delusions,” put in Dr. Pond, “are they of any special character!”

“H’m!” The Professor stroked his chin.  “No,” he said.  “Curious, you know, but not symptomatic.”  His hard eye scanned the old doctor purposely.  “Sometimes,” he said slowly, “he thinks he has been dead, and that I brought him back to life.”

“And he hates you for it,” suggested Mary.  The Professor stared at her in open astonishment.

“How on earth did you know that?” he cried.

“I saw him looking after you in the station,” Mary explained.  “He just—­glared.”

“I see.”  Professor Fish was always rather extravagant in manner and speech; his relief now seemed a little exaggerated.  He drew a deep breath and glanced past Mary to the patient on his chair at the far end of the room.  “Yes,” he said, “at such times he is distinctly resentful.  I don’t wonder you noticed it.”

“Your letter didn’t mention his name,” said Mary.

“I should call him Smith,” answered the Professor.

“It’s a good name.  And that, I think, is all there is to tell.  Oh, by the way, though he has no suicidal tendency, of course, or I shouldn’t put him here; but all the same——­”

Mary nodded.  “Quite so,” she said.  “No razor.”

“Exactly,” said the Professor.  “And no money.  Give him the things he needs, and let me have the bill.”

He rose and reached for his hat.

“But you will stay and have something to eat,” protested old Dr. Pond.

“Can’t,” answered the Professor.  “Got an engagement in town.  I’ve just time to catch the train back.  Now, you quite understand about this case?  Just quietness and soothing companionship, you know, fresh air and sleep, and all that.”