Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 50: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

216 own expression underwent a change. He had been visibly angry when that door swung open; now, after a moment, he him- self smiled, grimly and rather cynically. “TI got you that time, Mr. Otis,” he stated. “ That’s my idea of the perfectly super- fluous remark, doc,”’ sighed William. “ Doubtless. Why did you try it?” William stretched comfortably. “There was something about the corned- beef hash we couldn’t appreciate,” he said. “We were considering a change of boarding- places.” This time, however briefly, the doctor laughed outright. ‘“ You’re not altogether to blame, so far as that goes,” he remarked. ‘“‘ We’re having a little temporary trouble in the kitchen and matters will improve, as you Will dis- cover, in a very few days. However, I didn’t come up here for light conversation, Mr. Otis.” ° ‘“T am good at almost any kind,” William remarked suavely. “That I believe,” said the alienist. But his smile was altogether gone now; with a chill William observed that a decidedly harsh, professional expression had taken its place. “I shall be quite frank with you, Mr. Otis. My purpose in coming here was to administer a sedative to both of you.” “Tt isn’t necessary. We’re sleepy now.” ‘“ There was no marked drowsiness in the way you reached for that ladder.” ‘Maybe not, but we’re sleepy now,” William insisted. ‘“ Be a sport, doctor. We're not in any need of dope. You win. we're licked.” “T wonder if you quite realize that?” the doctor mused. “ We do,” said William, and studied him. He was perfectly calm. He was highly intelligent. Yes, he was a reasoning human being; he could hear and understand cold reason when delivered by a good talker like William Hervey, who was no longer in a state of high excitement. “Listen to me a minute, doc,” he said suddenly. Well?” “You have this whole thing wrong. You wouldn’t listen a while ago, when we were THE ARGOSY. all worked up, but you will now. We’re not Mr. and Mrs. Otis!” “Ah! And you are—”’’ “My name’s Hervey. Go down-stairs and look in your telephone-book for the Hervey Manufacturing Company. Then ask central for information and she’ll give you the number of my plant over in Jersey, if you haven’t a Jersey directory. Call them up and ask for Dolan, the night watchman in the office end, and have him — give you a description of me. Then call up Castle Hall, in New York, ask the night clerk if I’m there, and, when he says I’m not, ask Aim what I look like. Then call up Mr. Boulton Gray’s home in New York. Ask for him and ask im what I look like. After that, if you’re not convinced, I’ve got papers here in my pocket that would prove to a blind Congo native. that I’m a certain William Hervey, and that I’m not Otis. After you’ve looked at them—’’ In the strangest way, William’s voice trailed off. This was not because he felt his case weakening. It was because the doctor, who had grown thoughtful, had brought out a little black-leather box and opened it. Meditatively, he gazed at its contents. Two nickel hypodermic syringes glittered in there and, in a rack on the cover, six or eight very slender vials of little white pellets. “IT am inclined—yes, I am very strongly inclined to regard this persistent denial of identity as one of the most unfortunate phases of your case,” he muttered, speaking to the hypodermic outfit rather than to William. ‘“ Um—ah—yes. Possibly the forerunner of acute—um.”’ He tapped the nearer syringe with his excellent finger-nails. His eyes narrowed, and he studied William Hervey. And, as his spine grew cold, William’s diplomacy changed its course with the speed of light- ning. ‘“Er—doc, it’s no use, is it?” he asked, somewhat huskily. ‘‘ What is no use, Mr. Otis?” “This stunt of trying to fool you? There’s nothing to it—hey, doc?’ Bill Hervey pursued, with almost ghastly merri- ment. “ All right, Ill quit right here. Ul own up. I’m Otis.” Gomichboo €or