Doctor Mizzlemist laid down the pen, and with a blank stare thrust both his hands in his pockets. “I must confess,” he said at length, “we are all in the dark as yet. I don’t see a ray of light; not a glimmer.”
“Why, surely, all this must be madness? Plain as the moon at the full?” said Candituft.
“The fact is,” answered Mizzlemist, “as Mr. Jericho’s friends, we may have our own convictions. We may not doubt his insanity. But, unfortunately, we have to convince a jury.”
“Ha! that’s it,” said Monica with a sigh; and Agatha shook her little head and sighed, “that’s it.”
Colonel Bones had, for some time, been in thought. At length he observed—“Could nothing be made out of the poor fellow’s conduct the day when—when Miss Agatha—was not married?”
“Oh, Colonel!” exclaimed Agatha with a spasm of sorrow.
“Beg your pardon,” said Bones. “Better luck next time. But I was only thinking,—was there no bit of madness then? Laughed very wildly, didn’t he?”
“Won’t do for a jury,” cried Mizzlemist. Then, with great zeal, he resumed the pen. “Come, we must not be beat in this way. Can’t you help us, doctor?” and Mizzlemist appealed to Stubbs.
“By-and-bye; in good time,” said Stubbs. “Keep me to the last. I prefer it.”
Mizzlemist looked eloquently at Mrs. Jericho. “With submission, doctor,” said the lady, hesitatingly and mournfully, “I think the state in which you find us, is sufficient evidence of the calamity that afflicts our house. All the servants discharged. Mr. Jericho himself, attended by some hideous creature—who he is, and whence he came I know not—Mr. Jericho, shut up in a garret, like some wild beast in a cave—Mr. Jericho, I say”—