David yawned sleepily as he rose.
"Well, I've had enough of it for to-night," he said. "I'm dog-tried, and I must confess to feeling sick of the Hensons and Littimers, and all their works."
"Including their friend, Miss Ruth Gates?" Bell said, slily. "Still, they have made pretty good use of you, and I expect you will be glad to get back to your work again. At the same time, you need not trouble your head for plots for many a day."
David admitted that the situation had its compensations, and went off to bed. Bell met him the next day as fresh as if he had had a full night's rest, and vouchsafed the information that the patient was as well as possible. He was cold and no longer feverish.
"In fact, he is ready for the operation at any time," he said. "I shall get Heritage here to dinner, and we shall operate afterwards with electric light. It will be a good steadier for Heritage's nerves, and the electric light is the best light of all for this business. If you have got a few yards of spare flex from your reading-lamp I'll rig the thing up without troubling your electrician. I can attach it to your study lamp."
"I've got what you want," David said. "Now come in to breakfast."
There was a pile of letters on the table, and on the top a telegram. It was a long message, and Bell watched Steel's face curiously.
"From Littimer Castle," he suggested. "Am I right?"
"As usual," David cried. "My little scheme over that diamond star has worked magnificently. Miss Chris tells me that she has—by Jove, Bell, just listen—she has solved the problem of the cigar-case; she has found out the whole thing. She wants me to meet her in London to-morrow, when she will tell me everything."