Seltz looked at him in blank amazement. "I haven't been worried by anything, except the business which brought me here. I want my money—"
"Exactly—exactly," the doctor assented, in a soothing voice. "You shall have your money in due time. I promise you that. But first sit down and let us have a little chat."
Seltz sat down, helplessly. Apparently he was at a loss as to just what to say next. The doctor had told him that the money he expected would be forthcoming—he resigned himself in patience to await the latter's pleasure. For a moment he glanced at Duvall, however. "You should not have taken it from me," he said, peevishly.
Duvall looked quickly at Dr. Hartmann. The latter at once spoke up. "Give the matter no further thought, my man," he said, gravely. "I will see that you are fairly treated. But before we go ahead, I want you to tell me more about yourself—your life—your amusements—"
"What the devil have my amusements got to do with the matter?" exclaimed Seltz, his voice trembling with anger. "I tell you I want my money."
"And I tell you you shall have it. But, now, I insist that you let the matter drop for the present and answer my questions, otherwise I can do nothing to help you."
The remark quieted Seltz somewhat. He was, after all, in a peculiar position. The snuff box was gone. He cursed his stupidity in having let it pass out of his possession before the price agreed upon for its delivery had been forthcoming. That Dr. Hartmann did not question the payment of the money, however, was reassuring. He determined to answer as well as he could whatever questions the doctor might see fit to ask him.
The latter continued to examine his supposed patient with a shrewdly professional air. "How old are you, my man?" he suddenly inquired.
"Thirty-six."
"Do you drink?"