“The doctor—another young-looking man—hopped out after him, and they each took an arm, lugged their patient into the waiting-room, and popped him into an armchair. [pg 18] There he collapsed, and sat with his head hanging down as limp as a sucked orange.
“I asked them if anything was the matter with him.
“ ‘Only tired,—just a little sleepy,’ said the cousin.
“And do you know, Escott, what I’d stake my best boots was the matter with him?”
“What?”
“The man was drugged!”
Escott looked at the fire thoughtfully.
“Well,” he said, “it’s quite possible; he might have been too violent to manage.”
“Why couldn’t they have said so, then?”
“H’m. Not knowing, can’t say. What happened next?”