Deweese indeed showed the effects of his near-tragic battle with the Whispering Thing. His face was grayish-white and the heavy black circles under his bloodshot eyes accentuated his pallor and gave him an appearance that was almost ghastly. Had he been stretched out on a bed and his eyes closed, one could easily have mistaken him for a corpse.
Dismissing the garrulous and indignant old Chinaman, he crossed the hall and ushered Peret into a large, well-lighted room that was fitted out as a studio. The walls were hung with canvases of an indifferent quality in various stages of completion, and on an easel near a large double window reposed the half-completed picture of a semi-nude, which immediately caught and held the detective’s gaze.
After a moment’s critical inspection of the painting, Peret remarked: “You seem to be a busy man, my friend. But I don’t suppose you find much interest in your paintings this morning, eh? In fact, you look on the verge of a collapse. Have you seen your physician yet?”
“That’s the first thing I did after leaving Berjet’s house last night,” the artist replied. “He found nothing serious the matter with me, however. Shock more than anything else, I suppose. But to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Mr. Peret? Have you had any success in running down the Thing?”
“Yes and no,” answered Peret, and then went on to explain: “We are hot on the trail, but haven’t yet succeeded in entirely clearing up the mystery. It was in the hope that you would be able to help me a little that I called upon you this morning. I thought you might like to see the affair through to the end.”
“Good!” cried the artist, his feverish eyes glittering with eagerness. “After I had gotten some sleep, I intended hunting you up, anyway. You are right when you say I want to see the thing through to the finish. You can count on me to help you in any way that lies in my power. God knows, there is no one more eager than myself to get to the bottom of this affair! With the Whispering Thing still at large—”
He shuddered involuntarily, laughed, and added, “It is difficult for you to understand my feelings, I guess.”
“Perhaps it’s not as difficult as you imagine, my friend,” said Peret quietly, subsiding into a chair. He selected a cigarette from the case the artist proffered, and continued: “But let us get down to business. First, I will recount a few facts disclosed by my investigations and then explain how you can help me. In the meantime, let us be comfortable. You are as pale as a ghost. Be seated, my dear fellow, I beg of you,” he added with solicitude.
“Oh, I am not as bad off as I may appear,” declared Deweese confidently, dropping into a chair nevertheless. “I will be all right after a few hours’ rest. Now, let me have your story. Naturally, I am consumed with curiosity to hear what you have discovered.”