“And yet you say that what my friend has done is impossible?”
“What you say he has done is quite impossible. Mr. Tompkins, for example, whom you cite as having once met your friend and then failed to recognize him, would recognize him in ten seconds after any transformation within possibility. If he failed to recognize the man you take to be your friend transformed, make up your mind the man is somebody else.”
Bagley drew a deep sigh, curtly thanked the criminologist, and rose, saying to Larcher: “Well, you better turn over the stakes to your friend, I guess.”
“You're not going yet, are you?” said Larcher.
“Yes, sir. I lose this bet; but I'll try my story on the police just the same. Truth is mighty and will prevail.”
Before Bagley could make his way out, however, Turl, who had been watching him, managed to get to his side. Larcher, waving a good-night to Barry Tompkins, followed the two from the room. In the hall, he handed the stakes to Turl.
“Oh, yes, you win all right enough,” admitted Bagley. “My fun will come later.”
“I trust you'll see the funny side of it,” replied Turl, accompanying him forth to the snowy street. “You haven't laughed much at the little foretaste of the incredulity that awaits you.”
“Never you mind. I'll make them believe me, before I'm through.” He had turned toward Sixth Avenue. Turl and Larcher stuck close to him.
“You'll have them suggesting rest-cures for the mind, and that sort of thing,” said Turl, pleasantly.