“Bayless, formerly of the R—— street Insane Asylum?” persisted the questioner.
The doctor reddened and a startled look crossed his face, but he said, after a moment’s silence: “The same.”
“I want a few words with you, sir.”
“Excuse me;”—the doctor was growing haughty;—“my time is not my own.”
“Neither is mine, sir. I am a public benefactor, same as yourself.”
“Ah, a physician?”
“Oh, not at all; a detective.”
“A detective!” Doctor Bayless did not look reassured. He glanced at the detective, and then up and down the street, his uneasiness evident.
“I am a detective; yes, sir,” said the stranger cheerily, “and you are in a position to do me a favor without in any way discommoding yourself. Don’t be alarmed, sir; its nothing that affects you or touches upon that asylum business. You are safe with me, my word for it, and here’s my card. Now, sir, just take my arm and come this way.”
Doctor Bayless glanced down at the card, and then up at the speaker; and a look of relief crossed his face as he accepted the proffered arm, and walked slowly along at the side of his new acquaintance.