"Tell him the truth, Richards," said Cranston, with a smile.
"Well, sir," admitted the valet, "he has seen Mr. Burbank quite often. I would say, sir, that it has spruced him up a bit. But he seems to become very tired at times, sir."
"Very bad," said the physician. "You must forget this hobby of yours until the end of the week, Mr. Cranston. I am not sure that it is advisable for Burbank to be here."
The man in the bed motioned wearily to Richards.
"Bring me a sheet of paper and my green fountain pen. An envelope, also. Remember, the green fountain pen."
He received the articles.
"Now, Richards," he said, as he began to write, slowly and laboriously, "go and bring Burbank here."
Lamont Cranston was sealing the letter in the envelope when the wireless operator arrived.
"Any reply to that last message?" asked the millionaire.
"Yes," said Burbank. "Here it is."