He went, and for some minutes Wallion stood as if dead to all his surroundings; his nostrils quivered and his lips were pressed hard together. All at once he said:
"I take less interest in Doctor Corman's past than in the fact of his connection with Dixon, the kindly employer who was so much interested in Elaine Robertson's history ... the chain is complete now. Scarcely had Ferail set foot in Seattle when he inquired about certain 'goods' at Dixon's, the 'goods' being the two stolen dolls, and it was to Dixon he had sent them from Stockholm. Again, I am perfectly sure now that Corman and Ferail exchanged signals at the station. They are old acquaintances, but they kept it secret from us. Dixon, Corman and Ferail, there we have our enemies."
"But who, then, is this fellow Ferail?" asked Tom.
"Haven't you already guessed? He is Toroni, of course."
A waiter came up just then.
"A gentleman is here asking for Mr. Wallion; his name is Henry Morris."
"Show him in."
A pale, short-sighted man in black came forward, and after an awkward bow said: "I am Doctor Corman's assistant. The doctor sends his compliments and he hopes to see you, gentlemen, at the asylum at 11 to-morrow morning."
"Thanks, are you going back there?"
"No, I gave up my post to-day and am leaving for Portland by the night train. I offered to leave his message on my way."