To the relief of the agitated trio of rascals, Martie now appeared with a tray that bore the ordered drinks. Ditson relieved the waiter, handing out the money supplied by Du Boise. When Martie had vanished and they were again sitting around the table, Duncan lifted his glass with a quivering hand.
“Here’s hoping we’ve seen it for the last time,” he muttered.
“For the last time,” echoed Lynch hoarsely. “I hope so, but I fear it’s only the beginning.”
CHAPTER XXXVII.
PANGS OF CONSCIENCE.
Having sipped a little of the absinthe, Du Boise began to smile in a silly, satisfied manner. He surveyed his companions with a superior air of knowledge, in which there was unmistakable pity.
“The psychology of the mind is a mysterious and perplexing thing,” he observed. “As yet the phenomena of mental telepathy is but faintly understood. Like electricity, we know it exists and we experiment with it, but the real vital force and power is beyond the comprehension of the human mind in its present state of development. I think, gentlemen, we have this evening experienced a most remarkable case of mental suggestion. I think we all have been deluded by our own overwrought imaginations. There is no other reasonable explanation which we, as sane and sensible men, can afford to accept.”
Lynch gazed at him blankly, while Ditson sharply demanded:
“What are you driving at now?”
“Perhaps I may not succeed in arousing your comprehension. Perhaps you may not agree with me if you do catch my theory and fully comprehend its significance.”
“Come down to earth and talk plain English.”