“Have you noticed, Doctor Peters,” asked Edith, “that my father has removed Mr Falcon’s portrait?”
“No, I had not, Miss Dove,” said the doctor; “in fact, I have been feeling partially bewildered ever since the balloonists dropped upon us, so you must not be too hard on an old friend.”
After this appeal, Edith left the doctor and his patient alone.
“Did I understand,” asked the doctor, “that you knew Mr Falcon?”
“I have seen him on more occasions than one,” replied the patient. “Hadn’t he been shot in the back, and didn’t he try to wear spectacles, and hasn’t he a rather flighty turn?”
“What can you know of Mr Falcon’s habits beyond mere hearsay?”
“I know more about him than you imagine, doctor!”
“Of his double, perhaps.”
“I am alluding to your Mr Falcon, who wore spectacles on the day that he was shot at in the Essex marshes for attempted incendiarism.”
“Merciful powers! My good sir, what are you dreaming of? He certainly did tell me that he had tried spectacles, but I told him to throw them up.”