"Dead as a stone, so far as knowing anything is concerned."
"I trust he remains so, for a while at least."
The coach rattled on, and presently came to a halt in front of the hotel which had been mentioned.
"Wait here until I get back," said Arnold Baxter to his son and to the coach driver, and then hurried inside of the building.
Instead of asking for a room he spent a few minutes in looking over a business directory.
"It's too bad, but they haven't a single room vacant," he said, on coming back to the coach. "I've a good mind to take him to some private hospital, after all. Do you know where Dr. Karley's place is?" he went on, turning to the coach driver.
"Yes."
"Then drive us to that place."
Again the coach went on. Dr. Karley's Private Sanitarium was on the outskirts of Cleveland, and it took half an hour to reach it. It was an old-fashioned building surrounded by a high board fence. Entering the grounds, Arnold Baxter ascended the piazza and rang the bell.
A negro answered the summons, and ushered him into a dingy parlor. Soon
Dr. Karley, a dried-up, bald-headed, old man appeared.