"I don't think he buys his cigars at my store," responded Miller.
"No, he probably doesn't," responded Baker, significantly. "Humperdink doesn't indulge in ordinary tobacco; he smokes the root of snake plants found in the wilds of Africa. One whiff of it for an ordinary man is fatal."
Miller stared in a way that showed he believed every word. He was not in a condition to doubt anything that was told to him.
That is one of the effects of hasheesh, but even without the drug it is more than likely that he would have believed everything said to him on this occasion.
"Humperdink," continued Baker, "knows all the mysteries of nature. He has experimented with all poisons, and eats them as readily as the rest of us do ordinary food. In the old days he would have been called a magician. Really he's a very great scientist, and if there's any possible hope for Merriwell he'll know it. Ah! here he is."
At the moment when Miller had been taken into the room where Merriwell lay apparently dead, another student had slipped into the dressing-room of the little theatre, which was a part of the society's quarters, and had put on a long gown, white wig and beard, and concealed his eyes with dark glasses.
He now came tottering feebly across the room toward the students.
"What have ye here?" he asked in a high, cracked voice.
"One of the students has died, professor," responded Baker, in a tone of deep respect, "and the circumstances were so peculiar——"
"Dead, eh?" returned the "professor," stopping short in his walk, "then I can't do anything for him."