"See for yourself, then!" it said.
"That's better," said the masculine voice in tones half amused, half irritated. Was it Thompson?
Light footsteps and heavy footsteps crossed the dining room together. The bedroom door was opened.
"Sir," said Margery to Merriam, in tones a little shrill with excitement, "this is a Mr. Crockett. He has some crazy notion about your being Senator Norman. See for yourself, Mr.--Crockett!" She spoke his name as though it were an insult. "Remember, he's sick," she added warningly. Margery was not a bad actress.
Crockett! Crockett himself! So much the better! With an effort Merriam steadied his nerves. Mr. Crockett advanced to the bedside--a tall, imposing gentleman in evening clothes with keen blue eyes and a thin remnant of lightish hair.
"Well, George," he said blandly, "glad to see you. Your little friends are very loyal. But they couldn't keep me away from you."
Merriam instantly disliked Mr. Crockett. He plunged with zest into his part.
"George?" he inquired coldly. "My name's not George!"
"Oh, come, come, Norman! You're caught. Fess up."
But he looked closer. At the same moment Margery lifted a silk shade off the electric bulb by the bureau, and the cold hard light fell full on the younger man's face.