enough to sleep, all day, if he wished; now, there were still the little details to be thought out that, more than anything else, could make or wreck his plans. A point overdone, the faintest suggestion of a false note where men of the calibre of those against whom he was now fighting for his life were concerned, would not only make his scheme abortive, but would place him utterly at their mercy.
It was nine o'clock when he rang for Jason.
"Jason," he said abruptly, as the other entered, "I want you to telephone for Doctor Merlin."
"The doctor, sir!" exclaimed the old man anxiously. "You're—you're not ill, Master Jim, sir?"
"Do I look ill, Jason?" inquired Jimmie Dale gravely.
"Well, sir," admitted Jason, in concern; "a bit done up, sir, perhaps. A little pale, sir; though I'm sure"
"I'm glad to hear it," said Jimmie Dale, sitting up in bed. "The worse I look, the better!"
"I—I beg pardon, sir?" stammered Jason.
"Jason," said Jimmie Dale, gravely again, "you have had reason to know that on several occasions my life has been threatened. It is threatened now. You know from last night that this house is now watched. You may, or you may not have surmised—that our telephone wires have been tapped."
"Tapped, sir!"—Jason^s face had gone a little gray.
"Yes; a party line, so to speak," said Jimmie Dale grimly. "Do you understand? You must be careful to say no more, no less than exactly what I tell you to say. Now go and telephone! Ask the doctor to come over and see me this morning. Simply say that I am not feeling well; but that, apart from being apparently in a very nervous condition, you do not know what is the matter."
"Yes, sir—good Lord, sir!" gasped Jason—and left the room to carry out his orders.
An hour later, Doctor Merlin had been and gone—and had left two prescriptions; one written, the other verbal. With the written one, Benson, in his chauffeur's livery, was dispatched to the drug store; the verbal one was precisely
