“Stop it! stop it!” commanded Ditson. “Are you losing your senses? Get up!”
“Don’t! don’t! don’t!” gasped Hal, shrinking away. “I’m all right. I’ll be all right in a minute. Did I faint? I’m a fool! That’s right, Ditson, give me a hand. Help me up. Oh, how ridiculous! Oh, what a fool I am!”
But the moment he was lifted he turned his eyes fearsomely toward the panel in the wall. On seeing it closed he seemed inexpressibly relieved. With Duncan’s aid he regained his seat at the table, although he still seemed dizzy and weak.
“Never did that before in all my life,” he whispered apologetically. “Wasn’t it a silly trick? Don’t laugh at me—don’t laugh!”
“I’m not laughing, Du Boise.”
“I beg your pardon if I frightened you by yelling the way I did. I thought I saw something. Of course I know I was deceived. It must have been a hallucination. Perhaps it was the effect of what I’ve drank. Perhaps the absinthe is beginning to go back on me. If it is, what can I turn to next? What’s the matter with Mike?”
At this moment all three were given another frightful start, for the panel was shot back with a rattling sound, causing them to turn with a jerk and face it. The face of the waiter who had served their drinks appeared at the opening.
“What’s the matter in there?” he inquired. “T’ought I heard somebody give a yelp. T’ought I heard somet’ing bump on the floor. Didn’t know but youse chaps was havin’ a mix-up.”
“Say, Martie, come in here a minute,” invited Duncan, quickly rising and unfastening the door.
The waiter stepped into the room, still wearing a suspicious air as he eyed the pale-faced trio.