“That isn’t any lie, either,” admitted Charlie.
The young medical student had produced a cigarette from a flat, square box he kept hidden away in some mysterious pocket in his jacket, and lighting it, began to fill the surgery with the odor of Turkish tobacco.
“I see you smoke coffin-nails occasionally,” said Jack, beaming upon his friend. “Does the old gentleman stand for that sort of thing?”
“Hardly,” answered Charlie, with a sly wink. “I have to keep ’em out of sight when he’s around. I only tackle one once in awhile.”
Both boys smoked in silence for a moment or two, listening to the steady downpour of the rain on the tin roof, and the intermingled peals of thunder.
The vivid glare of the lightning was apparent in spite of the glow of the lamp.
“You’d have caught it in the neck if you had gone home to-night.”
“I’d have caught it all over, you mean,” grinned Jack. “By the way, you have a galvanic battery handy?”
“Yes. What do you want to do with it?” asked his chum, in some surprise.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Howard, confidentially. “This corpse looks so confounded lifelike that I can’t quite get it out of my head that maybe he isn’t as dead as he appears to be. It might be a case of suspended animation, for all you know.”