, not even a chair.

"The very place," quoth Mr. Spielhagen, and lifting a light
cane-bottomed chair from the many standing about, he carried it inside
and shut the door behind him.

Several minutes passed during which the man who had served at table
entered with a tray on which were several small glasses evidently
containing some choice liqueur. Finding his master fixed in one of his
strange moods, he set the tray down and, pointing to one of the glasses,
said:

"That is for Mr. Van Broecklyn. It contains his usual quieting powder."
And urging the gentlemen to help themselves, he quietly left the room.

Mr. Upjohn lifted the glass nearest him, and Mr. Cornell seemed about to
do the same when he suddenly reached forward and catching up one farther
off started for the room in which Mr. Spielhagen had so deliberately
secluded himself.

Why he did all this--why, above all things, he should reach across the
tray for a glass instead of taking the one under his hand, he can no
more explain than why he has followed many another unhappy impulse. Nor
did he understand the nervous start given by Mr. Spielhagen at his
entrance, or the stare with which that gentleman took the glass from his
hand and mechanically drank its contents, till he saw how his hand had
stretched itself across the sheet of paper he was reading, in an open
attempt to hide the lines visible between his fingers. Then indeed the
intruder flushed and withdrew in great embarrassment, fully conscious of
his indiscretion but not deeply disturbed till Mr. Van Broecklyn,
suddenly arousing and glancing down at the tray placed very near his
hand, remarked in some surprise: "Dobbs seems to have forgotten me."
Then indeed, the unfortunate Mr. Cornell realized what he had done. It
was the glass intended for his host which he had caught up and carried
into the other room--the glass which he had been told contained a drug.
Of what folly he had been guilty, and how tame would be any effort at
excuse!

Attempting none, he rose and with a hurried glance at Mr. Upjohn who
flushed in sympathy at his distress, he crossed to the door he had so
lately closed upon Mr. Spielhagen. But feeling his shoulder touched as
his hand pressed the knob, he turned to meet the eye of Mr. Van
Broecklyn fixed upon him with an expression which utterly confounded
him.

"Where are you going?" that gentleman asked.

The questioning tone, the severe look, expressive at once of displeasure
and