Granice broke out at once: "That detective you sent me the other
day--"

Allonby raised a deprecating hand.

"--I know: it was Stell the alienist. Why did you do that, Allonby?"

The other's face did not lose its composure. "Because I looked up
your story first--and there's nothing in it."

"Nothing in it?" Granice furiously interposed.

"Absolutely nothing. If there is, why the deuce don't you bring me
proofs? I know you've been talking to Peter Ascham, and to Denver,
and to that little ferret McCarren of the _Explorer_. Have any of
them been able to make out a case for you? No. Well, what am I to
do?"

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