“These, honorable sir,” he said slowly, “these are white hairs.”
CHAPTER IV
RUFFLES
As David Curtis crossed the threshold of the door of John Meredith’s bedroom Doctor Leonard McLane sprang forward with a low ejaculation.
“Dave! It’s you—really you,” he exclaimed. “Penfield said a Doctor Curtis was here, but it did not dawn on me that it was you.” He looked closely at his old friend and his expression of eager welcome gave place to one of compassion. His handclasp tightened. “I’m—”
“Leonard McLane,” Curtis’ tired face lightened. “I recognized your voice when you first spoke.”
“The same keen ears.” McLane pulled forward a chair, and helped his blind companion into it. “I recollect your memory tests; they were almost uncanny—”
“Freakish, is a better word,” broke in Curtis, and a short sigh, which McLane caught, completed his sentence. “My early training is standing me in good stead, for which,” his smile was whimsical, “praise be!” A movement to his right caused him to cease speaking as Coroner Penfield stepped into the room.
“You are acquainted, gentlemen?” he asked, observing McLane’s hand resting on his friend’s shoulder.
“Well, rather!” McLane smiled broadly. “We were pals at McGill Institute in Canada and graduated in the same class. I came here and Doctor Curtis went to Boston.”