dangers.”

“I—I beg your pardon, Mr. Fortescue—I had no intention,” I stammered, quite taken aback by the accuracy with which he had read, or guessed, my thoughts—“I had no intention to cast a doubt on what you said. But who are these people that seek your life? and why don’t you inform the police?”

“The police! How could the police help me?” exclaimed Mr. Fortescue, with a gesture of disdain, “Besides, life would not be worth having at the price of being always under police protection, like an evicting Irish landlord. But let us change the subject; we have talked quite enough about myself. I want to talk about you.”

A very few minutes sufficed to put Mr. Fortescue in possession of all the information he desired. He already knew something about me, and as I had nothing to conceal, I answered all his questions without reserve.

“Don’t you think you are rather wasting your life?” he asked, after I had answered the last of them.

“I am enjoying it.”

“Very likely. People generally do enjoy life when they are young. Hunting is all very well as an amusement, but to have no other object in life seems—what shall we say?—just a little frivolous, don’t you think?”

“Well, perhaps it does; but I mean, after a while, to buy a practice and settle down.”

“But in the mean time your medical knowledge must be growing rather rusty. I have heard physicians say that it is only after they have obtained their degree that they begin to learn their profession. And the practice you get on board these ships cannot amount to much.”

“You are quite right,” I said, frankly, for my conscience was touched. “I am, as you say, living too much for the present. I know less than I knew when I left Guy’s. I could not pass my ‘final’ over again to save my life. You are quite right: I must turn over a new leaf.”

“I am glad to hear you say so, the more especially as I have a proposal to make; and as I make it quite as much in my own interest as in yours, you will incur no obligation in accepting it. I want you to become an inmate of my house, help me in my laboratory, and act as my secretary and domestic physician, and when I am away from home, as my representative. You will have free quarters, of course; my stable will be at your disposal for hunting purposes, and you may go sometimes to London to attend lectures and do practical work at your hospital. As for salary—you can fix it yourself, when you have ascertained by actual experience the character of your work. What do you say?”

Mr. Fortescue put this question as if he had no doubt about my answer, and I fulfilled his expectation by answering promptly in the affirmative. The proposal seemed in every way to my advantage, and was altogether to my liking; and even had it been less so I should have accepted it, for what I had just heard greatly whetted my curiosity, and made me more desirous than ever to know the history of the extraordinary man with whom I had so strangely come in contact, and ascertain the secret of his wealth.

The same day I wrote to Alston announcing the dissolution of our partnership, and leaving him to deal with the horses at Red Chimneys as he might think fit.

Chapter IV.

A Rescue.

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My curiosity was rather long in being gratified, and but for a very strange occurrence, which I shall presently describe, probably never would have been gratified. Even after I had been a member of Mr. Fortescue’s household for several months, I knew little more of his antecedents and circumstances than on the day when he made me the proposal which I have just mentioned. If I attempted to lead up to the subject, he would either cleverly evade it or say bluntly that he preferred to talk about something else. Save as to matters that did not particularly interest me, Ramon was as reticent as his master; and as Geist had only been with Mr. Fortescue during the latter’s residence at Kingscote, his knowledge, or, rather, his ignorance was on a par with my own.

Mr. Fortescue’s character was as enigmatic as his history was obscure. He seemed to be destitute both of kinsfolk and friends, never made any allusion to his family, neither noticed women nor discussed them. Politics and religion he equally ignored, and, so far as might appear, had neither foibles nor fads. On the other hand, he had three passions—science, horses, and horticulture, and his knowledge was almost encyclopædic. He was a great reader, master of many languages, and seemed to have been everywhere and seen all in the world that was worth seeing. His wealth appeared to be unlimited, but how he made it or where he kept it I had no idea. All I knew was that whenever money was wanted it was forthcoming, and that he signed a check for ten pounds and ten thousand with equal indifference. As he conducted his private correspondence himself, my position as secretary gave me no insight into his affairs. My duties consisted chiefly in corresponding with tradesmen, horse-dealers, and nursery gardeners, and noting the results of chemical experiments.

Mr. Fortescue was very abstemious, and took great care of his health, and if he was really verging on eighty (which I very much doubted), I thought he might not improbably live to be a hundred and ten and even a hundred and twenty. He drank nothing, whatever, neither tea, coffee, cocoa, nor any other beverage, neither water nor wine, always quenching his thirst with fruit, of which he ate largely. So far as I knew, the only liquid that ever passed his lips was an occasional liquor-glass of a mysterious decoction which he prepared himself and kept always under lock and key. His breakfast, which he took every morning at seven, consisted of bread and fruit.

He ate very little animal food, limiting himself for the most part to fish and fowl, and invariably spent eight or nine hours of the twenty-four in bed. We often discussed physiology, therapeutics, and kindred subjects, of which his knowledge was so extensive as to make me suspect that some time in his life he had belonged to the medical profession.

“The best physicians I ever met,” he once observed, “are the Callavayas of the Andes—if the preservation and prolongation of human life is the test of medical skill. Among the Callavayas the period of youth is thirty years; a man is not held to be a man until he reaches fifty, and he only begins to be old at a hundred.”

“Was it among the Callavayas that you learned the secret of long life, Mr. Fortescue?” I asked.

“Perhaps,” he answered, with one of his peculiar smiles; and then he started me by saying that he would never be a “lean and slippered pantaloon.” When health and strength failed him he should cease to live.

“You surely don’t mean that you will commit suicide?” I exclaimed, in dismay.

“You may call it what you like. I shall do as the Fiji Islanders and some tribes of Indians do, in similar circumstances—retire to a corner and still the beatings of my heart by an effort of will.”

“But is that possible?”

“I have seen it done, and I have done it myself—not, of course, to the point of death, but so far as to simulate death. I once saved my life in that way.”

“Was that when you were hunted, Mr. Fortescue?”

“No, it was not. Let us go to the stables. I want to see you ride Regina over the jumps.”

Mr. Fortescue had caused to be arranged in the park a miniature steeple-chase course about a mile round, on which newly-acquired hunters were always tried, and the old ones regularly exercised. He generally made a point of being present on these occasions, sometimes riding over the course himself. If a horse, bought as a hunter, failed to