"I am sorry, but he has just left."
"Too bad!" Cyril knitted his brows as if the doctor's absence was an unexpected disappointment. "Mrs. Thompkins must leave here at once and I wanted to explain her precipitate departure to him."
"You might telephone," suggested the nurse.
"Yes, or better still, I shall call at his office. But his absence places me in a most awkward predicament."
Cyril paced the room several times as if in deep thought, then halted before the nurse.
"Well, there is no help for it. As the doctor is not here, I must confide in you. Thompkins is not our real name. The doctor knows what that is and it was on his advice that we discarded it for the time being. I can't tell you our reason for this concealment nor why my wife must not only leave this house as soon as possible, but must do so unobserved. Will you help us?"
"I—I don't know, sir," answered the nurse dubiously, staring at Cyril in amazement.
"If you will dress my wife in a nurse's uniform and see that she gets out of here without being recognised, I will give you £100. Here is the money."
The nurse gave a gasp and backed away from the notes, which Cyril held temptingly toward her.
"Oh, I couldn't, sir, really I couldn't. The doctor would never forgive me. Besides it seems so queer."