there came to him a thought that sent all the gloom from his face. He
dropped the towels, he dropped the basin, and he opened the treatise
of the hakim and feverishly refreshed his memory of the details of an
operation sometimes practised in India.

An hour and a half had passed when Mr. Middleton finished. Mr.
Augustus Brockelsby still sat in the revolving chair, but he was no
longer disturbing the air with his unseemly grunts. He was, in fact,
absolutely silent, absolutely still. The keenest touch could feel no
pulsation in his wrist, the keenest eye could detect no agitation of
his chest, the keenest ear could hear no beating from the region of
the heart. For a moment as he gazed upon the result of following the
instructions set down by the hakim, Mr. Middleton felt a little clutch
of fear. But he was reassured by the lifelike appearance of the
learned jurisconsult and by the fact that the induction into his
present state had been attended by none of the manifestations that
accompany death.

"Now," said Mr. Middleton, addressing the unconscious form of Augustus
Brockelsby, "now there will be no chance of you appearing in court in
the case of Ralston versus Hippenmeyer. I will not restore you until
it is all over. I will now have the long coveted opportunity to plead
an important case and as I have studied it so carefully, I shall win.
There will now be no chance that poor little Hippenmeyer will suffer
from your disgraceful and bestial habits, for in spite of the best
that could be done for you, you would be in no fit condition to plead
a case this afternoon. And when I bring you to at fall of night, you
will think you have been drunk all day. But where will I keep you in
the meantime?"

This was a most perplexing problem. There were no closets in the suite
of offices. There were no boxes, no desks big enough to conceal a man
and Mr. Middleton's brow was beginning to contract as he struggled
with the problem, when suddenly the stillness of the room was
disturbed by some one smiting the door. Not a sound made he, for his
heart had stopped beating as completely as Brockelsby's. What should
he do, what should he do? The paralysis of fear answered for him and
supplied the best present plan and he did nothing. Then came a voice,
a voice calling him by name, the voice of Chauncy Stackelberg.

"Open up, old man, open up. I know you are there, for I heard you
knocking around before I rapped and you dropped your handkerc