go back to Lexington. What a pinnacle the man reached, and
what a drop he had! It has always seemed to me an extraordinary
instance of the human leaven running through us all. What was
the real cause of his collapse?" he asked, suddenly. "Was it
drugs or drink? I have often wished to get at the truth."

Again Chilcote changed his attitude.

"Is truth ever worth getting at?" he asked, irrelevantly.

"In the case of a public man--yes. He exchanges his privacy
for the interest of the masses. If he gives the masses the
details of his success, why not the details of his failure?
But was it drink that sucked him under?"

"No." Chilcote's response came after a pause.

"Drugs?"

Again Chilcote hesitated. And at the moment of his indecision
a woman brushed past him, laughing boisterously. The sound
jarred him.

"Was it drugs?" the stranger went on easily. "I have always
had a theory that it was."

"Yes. It was morphia." The answer came before Chilcote had
realized it. The woman's laugh at the stranger's quiet
persistence had contrived to draw it from him. Instantly he
had spoken he looked about him quickly, like one who has for a