A cold shiver ran down Granice's spine, but he repeated
obstinately: "That's not Dr. Stell."

"Not Stell? Why, man, I KNOW him. Look--here he comes. If it
isn't Stell, he won't speak to me."

The little dried-up man was moving slowly up the aisle. As he
neared McCarren he made a slight gesture of recognition.

"How'do, Doctor Stell? Pretty slim show, ain't it?" the reporter
cheerfully flung out at him. And Mr. J. B. Hewson, with a nod of
amicable assent, passed on.

Granice sat benumbed. He knew he had not been mistaken--the man
who had just passed was the same man whom Allonby had sent to see
him: a physician disguised as a detective. Allonby, then, had
thought him insane, like the others--had regarded his confession
as the maundering of a maniac. The discovery froze Granice with
horror--he seemed to see the mad-house gaping for him.

"Isn't there a man a good deal like him--a detective named J. B.
Hewson?"

But he knew in advance what McCarren's answer would be. "Hewson?
J. B. Hewson? Never heard of him. But that was J. B. Stell fast
enough--I guess he can be trusted to know himself, and you saw he
answered to his name."