"Feeling better?" enquired Smith, mentally registering the opinion that black suited the old man's complexion better than royal blue.
"Thank you, Mr. Alfred, I'm all right again now. It was the shock, sir. Would you like me to remain, Mr. Alfred?"
"Yes, I want to talk to you," said Smith, springing out of bed; "but I'll have a bath and shave first. Ah!" as his eyes fell upon the tea-tray by the bedside.
"It's cold, Mr. Alfred, I'll get some more," and, picking up the tray, Willis left the room.
When he returned, Smith had finished his bath and was half-way through shaving.
For the next quarter-of-an-hour he devoted himself to his toilet, assisted by Willis. Some difficulty arose as to what clothes he was to wear. Willis had made the selection from Alfred Warren's wardrobe, whereas Smith insisted upon the contents of his own suit-case being drawn upon.
With a sigh of obvious regret, Willis returned Alfred Warren's clothes to drawers and wardrobe, whilst Smith completed his toilet.
"Now I feel equal to meeting even dragons," he cried, as he buckled on his wrist-watch, with him always the last act in his preparations for the day.
Willis smiled benevolently. He appeared to have reached that stage of happiness where words seem unnecessary.
"By the way, how long ago is it that I am supposed to have disappeared?" Smith enquired.
"Seven and a quarter years, Mr. Alfred," was the reply. "You went away on March 10th."
"And yet all those clothes are new?" he nodded in the direction of the wardrobe.
