“Its pretty hard to lose one’s old life,” said he. “You will find acquaintances wherever you go, just as you found me. But there must be an explanation to this thing. You must have enemies?”
“No, at least, only one, and he’s a farmer living out of town, with no means of doing me this injury.”
“You can never tell. I’d have him shadowed, if I were you. You are sure there is no one else?”
As though it had risen before him at that moment, Burton saw a black, keen eye through the crack of a door, but he answered, “No, there is no one else.”
They were now nearing a town on the other line of railway, where Dr. Millar lived.
“Come right in with me,” said the doctor. “We will go right to my house and have dinner, and then we will diagnose your case further.”
Burton gladly agreed, and when dinner was over Dr. Millar took him into his consultation room.
“The first thing I do with a patient, especially a country patient”—his eye twinkled—“is give him a bath. We will start at the beginning. Step into the bathroom here and slip your clothes out to me. They may need some attention, too.”
Burton did as he was bidden, and the refreshing delight of a good bath went far to restore his confidence in himself.
“I’ll take my clothes now, if they’re ready for me,” he called to the doctor.