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swept by a nagging sense of urgency.
    Slowly, he sat down on the chair and gave himself up to thought. He still had no idea where he was, except, of course, that he was in the country. In the south of England, by the looks of it, but he could be mistaken. Cursorily, he examined his clothing, hanging on the back of the chair. Even the pockets of his coat proved unproductive. He had money, but not much. Except, no—what was this? A rustling sound drew him to the coat collar, which, when turned over revealed a narrow, hidden pocket. It contained—my God, over five hundred pounds! Where had he got that kind of gelt?
    But there was nothing else. Not a scrap of paper with a name on it. Not a bill, not a letter, not even a handkerchief with an initial. Lord, what kind of man sets out from home with nothing in his possession except enough money to choke a mule?
    A man who is heading off for parts unknown and wants to keep his identity a secret, that’s who. Well, he’d done a damn good job, hadn’t he? Thoughtfully, he tucked the roll of soft back into its hiding place, and returned the coat to its place on the back of the chair. His efforts had tired him, and he hobbled back to bed, where he explored the blank void that was his mind. Search as he might, however, no clue glimmered in the fog. At the end of a half hour’s fruitless concentration, he still had no idea what kind of man it was who had inhabited his body for what he guessed was some thirty years.
    But he had to remember. Somehow, he knew that his very survival depended on his return to sanity.
    He jerked his head at a tap on the door, which opened immediately to admit a housemaid bearing a nightshirt. He affixed an engaging smile to his lips.
    “Well, now,” he said, “here’s a sight to bring a man back to good health.”
    The maid giggled shyly. She laid the nightshirt on the bed and made as though to leave the room, but John spoke quickly.
    “Surely, you don’t have to go so soon? And me fretting myself to flinders with loneliness.”
    “Oh, no, sir. I mustn’t stay,” she replied with a smile, but she advanced to the bed.
    “Ah. Will your mistress beat you if you spend a few minutes with a poor, wounded fellow?”
    The maid giggled again. “Oh, no, sir, but I have my duties.”
    “One of which, I’m sure, is to see to the needs of a guest in the house.”
    “Oh, now, sir, and what is it you’re needing?” she asked archly.
    “Why, just a bit of company.” He patted the bed suggestively and, after a moment’s hesitation, the girl hopped up to seat herself on the edge.
    “And how are you feeling, sir?” she asked, a little breathless at her own temerity. “They say belowstairs that you don’t know your—that you can’t remember—”
    “That I’ve somehow lost myself,” John said with another smile. “They’re perfectly right; I can’t remember so much as my own name, but I’m told it will all come back to me with a little time. Tell me something about you. What’s your name, pretty miss? Have you worked here long? Is it a good place?”
    The girl giggled once again. She seemed much given to giggling. “I’m Called Doris, sir. I’ve been here about two years, sir, and yes, it’s a good place to work. Lady Catherine is all that’s kind. Mrs. Marian can be a bit of a tartar sometimes, but she’s a nice lady.”
    “How is it Miss Meade owns this big place all on her own?”
    “As to that, I couldn’t say. It used t’belong to the old one—that is, Lady Jane.”
    “I see,” said John thoughtfully. “And the three ladies live here alone? I shouldn’t think that would suit them—at least the two younger ones.”
    “Well, I’ve wondered about that meself,” said Doris confidentially. “But, I think something happened a long time ago to Miss Meade. Something real bad that made her hide away like a scairt child. I think some of the older servants know what it was, but they don’t say much.”
    The girl seemed to