“No, I hear no voice.”
“You don’t?”
“No, I hear no ghostly voice such as you fellows are all jabbering about.”
“It’s strange.”
“No, it isn’t strange. You’ve all got ’em. What kind of whiskey do you keep here anyhow? Here you are going on like a lot of madmen. Take my advice, go in and take a big glass of Appollinaris, and take a little nervine. I tell you, boys, you’ve all got ’em, and you’ve got ’em bad, too.”
The men did go in and drink Vichy, and the steward, who had been summoned, produced some valerian and they all took big doses and calmed down. The voice was not heard again, and it became the mystery of their lives. Indeed they all believed they “had ’em.” They were told it had been a temporary epidemic of snake seeing, and the evidence to each was so strong they were mystified, and inclined to believe it. It was not until weeks afterward that Murray undeceived them, and then he disclosed the truth to Tom Atwood, who was so deeply affected he became melancholy over it.
Murray determined to go to bed after the men had quieted down, and he let Ike in at the window of his room and put him to bed. At an early hour the lad was out and around, and at the breakfast he appeared as a lad who brought a message to the detective. The latter invited him to breakfast and then disclosed the fact that Ike was at work on a clew for him, and secured the privilege of bed and lodgment for the boy during such time as he remained there. He also bid Ike not to attempt any more pranks for the time being.
Later Murray went to New York. On the same train was the man Fellman, and Murray had a chance to study his man all the way down on the train.
Upon the arrival of the officer in New York he went direct to the office of the gentleman, Mr. Smith, who was a special partner in the banking business, and who was the father of the beautiful girl whom it is known young Burlein was affianced to.
The detective was shown into the merchant’s private office, and after seating himself said: