"I am obliged to you."
The lady sat back without troubling to bestow another glance on Jim, but she observed to her companion as they entered the drive that the extraordinary young fellow in the dressing-gown was probably one of the madmen.
Jim Mortimer, sauntering on, at length reached the asylum, a cheerful-looking red-brick-building, standing healthily high. He found Hughes in the patients' common room--a spacious and airy apartment provided with a piano, a bagatelle board, and other requisites for indoor pastimes.
As Jim was chatting with the head attendant, a grey-haired, round-shouldered man of some sixty summers came up to them.
"Take care, Mr James!" he exclaimed, "he's just behind you! Oh, if I had a gun now!"
Jim knew that Mr Richards--the speaker--had "alligators" on his bad days.
"No, he's gone under the table," replied Jim. "See him? Here, lend me a cue, and I'll kill him."
"That's right," said the poor fellow; "kill him, and I'll leave you all my money. He sat on the end of my bed last night--he won't let me alone. Kill him now he's not looking."
Jim seized the cue and slashed about under the table with it.
"There--I've done it. I've cut his head off."