"Do you know what dentist he visited?" I asked, trying to speak casually.
"Oh, yes. Mr. Barker inquired at the office, and went with him. Diavolo was very careful about not being seen, and even then he wore a wig. I knew it was a wig, because he had got it crooked, tossing about, and some light hairs showed about his ear."
"What dentist did you send him to?" I asked anxiously.
"Dr. Shaw."
"And he isn't dead or moved away or anything like that?"
"Oh, no! He has his office right around the corner. He boards in the house, and I always like to throw business in the way of my boarders when I can."
"I think I shall have to see him on my own account," I said. I almost expected an earthquake to swallow up Dr. Shaw before I could get around the corner, but I found the office still in place, all right, and the doctor himself, looking rather pathetically glad to see some one enter. He was a dapper little man, with a silky moustache and an eternal smile. (Not that his looks matter! But whenever I think of that interview, I see that humble, ingratiating smile.)
"What can I do for you?" he asked gently and caressingly.
"I am not in need of your professional services, Doctor Shaw, but I should like to obtain some information from you, if you will allow me to take some of your time at your regular rates. I am a lawyer, and I am anxious to establish the identity of a man who was here in the summer under the name of Diavolo,--a professional hypnotist. Mrs. Goodell, of the Winslow House, tells me that she sent him to you to be relieved of a toothache."
"Yes, I remember. I extracted a tooth for him," Dr. Shaw said at once. "I could perhaps have saved it, but it would have required treatment, and he insisted upon having it extracted, as he was to appear on the stage that evening."