"No, no," cried Stratton angrily. "It is absurd! He will come back
some day. See me home, please, old fellow. My head--all confused and
strange. I want to get back as soon as I can."

Guest took his arm to the entrance of the inn, called a cab, and did not
leave him till he was safe in his rooms at Sarum Street, after which the
young barrister returned to his own chambers to think over the events of
the evening in company with a pipe.

"Takes all the conceit out of a fellow," he mused, "to find what a lot
of his old childish dread remains when he has grown up. Why, I felt
then--Ugh! I'm ashamed to think of it all. Poor old Stratton! he
doesn't know what he's about half his time. I believe he has got what
the doctors call softening of the brain. Strikes me, after to-night's
work," he added thoughtfully, "that I must have got it, too."

He refilled his pipe and went on thinking.

"How he started, and how strange he seemed when I talked about the
possibility of the poor old fellow lying there dead. Only a fancy of
mine. How does the old saying go: `Fancy goes a great way'? There,
I've had enough fancy for one night."

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

A MODERN INQUISITION.

The next day was a busy one for Guest. He had to attend court, and in
the afternoon he stole a visit to Miss Jerrold, where, by "the merest
chance," he found Edie, who was also there by "the merest chance," but
they had a long chat about their invalids, as they termed them, and then
Guest spoke of his ideas respecting Brettison.

"And you sit here talking to me?" she said. "Why, you ought to be
having the place searched."

"You think so, too?"

"Of course, and without loss of time. Why, Percy, he may have known all
about Malcolm Stratton's trouble, and now the chance has gone forever."

"Steady, steady!" said Guest, smiling at the girl's impetuosity. "Don't
let your imagination run away with you. It's rather bad sometimes."

He left almost directly, and was half disposed to go straight to the
police-station nearest the inn; but it occurred to him that he had
stirred Stratton a good deal on the previous night, and that if he could
get his friend's interest full upon this matter it would be a good
thing.

"I dare say it will all turn out to be nothing--mere imagination," he
thought; "but, even if it is, it may do something to get the poor fellow
out of this morbid state. After all, Brettison may be there."

But Guest felt so l