"Please, my lord, it's late; I'd better go," he said feebly.
"No, wait," said Harry. "Damn it all, do what you are told! The doctor wishes you to stop, so stop. But why and how is Geoff here, and Jim? And where is he?"
Both of the other young men looked at the doctor, and without more words he told the story for the second time, with as direct a brevity as was possible. No word of any kind interrupted him, but in Harry's eyes a wondering horror deepened and grew convinced. Once only did any sound come from him, and that when the doctor said that beyond doubt Mr. Francis was not sane; but then a long sigh, it would seem of unutterable relief, moaned from his lips. He heard of the plot, as originally told by his uncle to the doctor, of all the business of the metholycine, of all the communications going on between his uncle's supposed accomplice and Geoffrey, of the scene on the pavement of Grosvenor Square. Then came for the second time that evening the events of the last two hours, but Harry's head had sunk on his hands, and the eyes of the others no longer looked at him, for it was not seemly to behold so great an amazement of horror and grief.
At length the words were all spoken, and for a long space there was silence, while the truth, bitter and burning as vitriol, ate into the poor lad's brain. Then said Harry, his face still buried:
"As God sees you, Dr. Armytage, this is true?"
"It is true, Harry," said he.
"Geoffrey?" asked the same hard cold voice.
"God help you, yes!"