Granice's lips began to tremble. "Why did you play me that
trick?"

"About Stell? I had to, my dear fellow: it's part of my
business. Stell IS a detective, if you come to that--every
doctor is."

The trembling of Granice's lips increased, communicating itself
in a long quiver to his facial muscles. He forced a laugh
through his dry throat. "Well--and what did he detect?"

"In you? Oh, he thinks it's overwork--overwork and too much
smoking. If you look in on him some day at his office he'll show
you the record of hundreds of cases like yours, and advise you
what treatment to follow. It's one of the commonest forms of
hallucination. Have a cigar, all the same."

"But, Allonby, I killed that man!"

The District Attorney's large hand, outstretched on his desk, had
an almost imperceptible gesture, and a moment later, as if an
answer to the call of an electric bell, a clerk looked in from
the outer office.

"Sorry, my dear fellow--lot of people waiting. Drop in on Stell
some morning," Allonby said, shaking hands.


McCarren had to own himself beaten: there was absolutely no flaw