I should have at once claimed acquaintanceship with my visitor, but before I could speak he advanced, and apologized gracefully for his intrusion.
“You will forgive it,” he added, “when I tell you my name is Ralph Carriston.”
Remembering our chance conversation, the thought that, after all, Charles Carriston’s wild suspicion was well-founded, flashed through me like lightning. My great hope was that my visitor might not remember my face as I remembered his. I bowed coldly but said nothing.
“I believe, Dr. Brand,” he continued, “you have a young relative of mine at present staying with you?”
“Yes, Mr. Carriston is my guest,” I answered. “We are old friends.”
“Ah, I did not know that. I do not remember having heard him mention your name as a friend. But as it is so, no one knows better than you do the unfortunate state of his health. How do you find him to-day—violent?”
I pretended to ignore the man’s meaning, and answered smilingly, “Violence is the last thing I should look for. He is tired out and exhausted by travel, and is in great distress. That, I believe, is the whole of his complaint.”
“Yes, yes; to be sure, poor boy! His sweetheart has left him, or something. But as a doctor you must know that his mental condition is not quite what it should be. His friends are very anxious about him. They fear that a little restraint—temporary, I hope—must be put upon his actions. I called to ask your advice and aid.”
“In what, Mr. Carriston?”
“In this. A young man can’t be left free to go about threatening his friends’ lives. I have brought Dr. Daley with me; you know him, of course. He is below in my carriage. I will call him up, with your permission. He could then see poor Charles, and the needful certificate could be signed by you two doctors.”