"Ah!" said the stranger, "I see that you are indisposed, Doctor. If you cannot treat yourself Dr. Harper can do something for you, I am sure."
"Who the devil are you?" said Harper, bluntly.
The stranger came nearer and, bending toward them, said in a whisper: "I call myself Jarette sometimes, but I don't mind telling you, for old friendship, that I am Dr. William Mancher."
The revelation brought Harper to his feet. "Mancher!" he cried; and Helberson added: "It is true, by God!"
"Yes," said the stranger, smiling vaguely, "it is true enough, no doubt."
He hesitated and seemed to be trying to recall something, then began humming a popular air. He had apparently forgotten their presence.
"Look here, Mancher," said the elder of the two, "tell us just what occurred that night—to Jarette, you know."
"Oh, yes, about Jarette," said the other. "It's odd I should have neglected to tell you—I tell it so often. You see I knew, by over-hearing him talking to himself, that he was pretty badly frightened. So I couldn't resist the temptation to come to life and have a bit of fun out of him—I couldn't really. That was all right, though certainly I did not think he would take it so seriously; I did not, truly. And afterward—well, it was a tough job changing places with him, and then—damn you! you didn't let me out!"
Nothing could exceed the ferocity with which these last words were delivered. Both men stepped back in alarm.
"We?—why—why," Helberson stammered, losing his self-possession utterly, "we had nothing to do with it."