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and stooped to pick it up. A sudden cramp shot through his abdomen and for a minute he was wrung with pain; then it relaxed, and he was sitting motionless in his chair, a little white and breathing very carefully for fear it would come on again. Presently he began to move, cautiously at first, then with increasing confidence. “Exercise,” he thought. “I ought to get more exercise. I’ll die at fifty if I don’t look out.”
    He left the office at about seven o’clock and walked part of the way home through the wet, lamp-lit streets in pursuit of his new resolution. He went down Cheap-side, over Holborn Viaduct, past Gamage’s and Kingsway nearly to Tottenham Court Road. There he was tired and a little faint, and took a taxi to his house in Grosvenor Square. “I can’t go letting myself get run down like this,” he thought. “I’d better get away and get some exercise.”
    He had a whisky and a bath when he got home, and felt refreshed; he put on a dinner jacket and went down to dine alone. With the first mouthful his appetite left him; he ate very little, and went through into thelibrary for coffee. He drank two cups of coffee and a little brandy, and felt better. He sat in his deep chair before the fire, and faced the problem of his sleep.
    He knew he would not sleep. He had hardly slept at all the previous night; he knew that it would be the same again. He would not sleep without his allonal, and he had done with that. You need to be physically tired to sleep; it was imperative to him that he should get more exercise, at once, and quickly. He must get away somewhere, and walk. If he walked twenty miles a day for the next week sleep would return to him, he knew; walking was what his body clamoured for. It would rid him of this sick feeling, would clean his mind and body as they needed to be cleaned. Twenty miles a day, and for a week on end.
    That was what he would do, to-morrow. But for this night ahead of him, in some way he must get through that. Queer, this matter of his sleep. If he were travelling, in car or train or aeroplane, he would be able to compose his mind, to rest and doze, and fall into a sleep of sorts; in bed he could not sleep without his allonal. But he could sleep in a motor-car.
    And that would get him right away, and he could walk. Twenty miles a day; till he was well.
    He rose and pressed the bell. He glanced at his watch; it was ten o’clock. When Evans came, he said:
    “Is Donaghue about?”
    “In the housekeeper’s room, sir.”
    “Tell him I want the car. In half an hour.”
    “Very good, sir.”
    “Tell him to get the tank filled up, and put some warm clothes on. I may be going a long way.”
    He went up to his room and changed into an old business suit that he had bought in the United States. He put on a heavy ulster and a scarf, and gave Evans a flask to fill with brandy. These completed his preparations for the road; he looked at the contents of his note-case. He had about eighteen pounds. That, he thought, would see him through.
    In the housekeeper’s room Donaghue was making similar preparations, swearing a little to himself. He had no fancy for a drive of unknown length on a cold night in February.
    Elsie came to him with a little packet in her hands.
    “I cut you some sandwiches, Mr. Donaghue,” she said, a little shyly, “and there’s a bit of seed cake. I do hope he won’t keep you out too late.”
    He took them gratefully, and mumbled his thanks. “See you half-past two to-morrow, anyway,” he said. “Even if it makes me miss my breakfast.”
    She smiled at him. “You wouldn’t rather we put it off?”
    “Not much. I’ll be back.”
    He had already brought the car to the door; he went out to it now, and Evans went into the library.
    “The car is quite ready, sir.”
    Warren rose slowly from his chair, in ulster and scarf. He was feeling unwell, and the prospect of a long night drive seemed less attractive to him now, but he might as well go. He would