like a child."

Even as he spoke, the struggles of the man in Duvall's arms became less
violent--his efforts to cry out less vigorous. "It's a sad case," the
detective remarked. "I am very much afraid that he must be sent to an
asylum."

"Undoubtedly the best place for him, my dear sir," remarked Hartmann,
dryly. "I see your cab is waiting, outside. As soon as the man is quiet,
I will have one of my attendants help you to carry him to it." He went
over to Seltz, who was now struggling faintly, and felt his pulse. "He
is quite harmless now," he observed, looking keenly into the man's face.
"I will call one of my men." He went to the wall and pressed an electric
button.

Duvall allowed the limp body of the barber to slip softly into a chair.
"Poor Oscar!" he said, musingly, looking down at the huddled-up figure.
"What a pity! Such a faithful fellow, too!" He turned to Hartmann. "I
feel almost as though I had lost an old friend."

The doctor smiled. "Rather a dangerous one, I should say," he remarked,
as he glanced at the revolver on the table. "You will want this, I
suppose."

Duvall took the revolver and thrust it into his pocket. "Might as well
take it along, I suppose, doctor. Now about my bill--do I owe you
anything in addition to the fee I paid you on my arrival?" He felt for
his pocketbook.

"Nothing, my dear sir." The doctor smiled. "I feel that in accepting
your fee I am robbing you." He drew the note from his pocket, but Duvall
waved it aside.

"I insist, my dear sir. You have given me your valuable time, at least,
even if you could do this poor fellow no good." He paused, as an
attendant in a gray uniform entered the room.

"Max," said the doctor, addressing the man, "help this gentleman put his
friend into the cab."

The man came forward, and he and Duvall picked up the limp figure of
Seltz, who was now sleeping soundly. In a few moments they had
transferred him to the cab outside.

As they left the house, Duvall saw Grace standing near the door, her
face pale, her eyes seeking his. He avoided her glances, making no sign
that he recognized her. The doctor, somewhat annoyed, requested her,
with elaborate but firm politeness, to withdraw. She did so, without
looking back, but her heart was beating until it shook her whole body,
and she longed to run to her husband and drive off with him, in spite of
the doctor's presence. Somehow she felt that the necessity which had
kept her a prisoner in this hous