The grip brought Follansbee to his feet, and for a moment the two faced each other, their eyes flashing. Perhaps the powerful grip of the detective’s fingers had warned Follansbee of the uselessness of a struggle, but the unmasked, flaming rage in his face revealed the depth of his hatred. A quiet smile flitted over the detective’s features. He quietly brought Follansbee’s two wrists together, clasped them both with the fingers of one hand, and then leaning down, pulled out the open drawer a little farther. As he had anticipated, he found a revolver in it. This he confiscated and dropped it into his pocket. “I’ll take charge of this,” he announced. “All the same, though, I don’t trust you, and I must ask you to keep your hands on the desk hereafter. If you don’t, you may get hurt.” With that he released Follansbee and stepped back. The head of St. Swithin’s glared at him for a few brief moments, then subsided into his chair again, and, with a sullen, venomous look, leaned both arms on the desk. “I suppose there’s no use in playing the part any longer,” he confessed. Nick pricked up his ears at this and wondered if it were possible that Follansbee was about to make a clean breast of it. The latter’s next words, however, proved that the hope was groundless. “I was at the Windermere last night,” Follansbee declared coolly, “but not for the reason you think. James Stone is my patient, and that’s why I consented to go through with that rather questionable farce. I can hardly blame you for misinterpreting it, but the fact remains——” “Drop it!” Nick broke in. “I can guess what you’re going to say. You’re going to tell me that you were merely ‘humoring’ Stone in an attempt to draw him out and get to the root of his disease. I suppose you think I’m green enough to believe that there was nothing harmful in that syringe.” “Nothing worse than glycerine,” the physician assured him. Nick’s laugh was harsh. “You’re a fool, Follansbee,” he declared. “You think you’re so clever that you can’t make yourself believe the other fellow has any brains at all.” “Do you think a man of my standing would deliberately lie?” The detective might have said that he knew Follansbee was lying, but he did not choose to do so for the very good reason that he did not wish the doctor to learn just then what he had done. “Standing hasn’t anything to do with it,” he answered. “It’s your personality I don’t trust, Follansbee.”