When he reached the street the young man experienced no sudden relief from unholy atmospheres. He had forgotten all about them, and had been breathing naturally, and with no sensation of discomfort or distress.
He was thinking of these things as he walked along the street, when he was suddenly startled by feeling the assassin's hand, trembling with excitement, clutching his arm, and when the assassin spoke, his voice went into quavers from a supreme agitation.
"I'll be hully, bloomin' blowed if there wasn't a feller with a nightshirt on up there in that joint."
The youth was bewildered for a moment, but presently he turned to smile indulgently at the assassin's humour.
"Oh, you're a d——d liar," he merely said.
Whereupon the assassin began to gesture extravagantly, and take oath by strange gods. He frantically placed himself at the mercy of remarkable fates if his tale were not true.
"Yes, he did! I cross m'heart thousan' times!" he protested, and at the moment his eyes were large with amazement, his mouth wrinkled in unnatural glee.
"Yessir! A nightshirt! A hully white nightshirt!"
"You lie!"