“I am aiding the great scientists,” he interrupted, “by helping to find living proofs of the wrongs committed by the ‘Plunger from Kansas.’” “The poor Plunger is getting it on every side; getting thumped by this scientific hail,” she replied. “In what way, Miss Motuble,” quietly asked the Governor, “can Mr. Niksab be of further assistance to our scientific investigations?” She made him no immediate reply, but laughingly said in a familiar tone: “Nicky, the fellow who murdered your brother, rifled your safe, stole all those _cántaras_ of _pulque_, and _mescal_, and skins of _tequila_, when you ‘kept bar’ at the Palacio, is here now, less a notch or so as things go in social affairs at present. You remember him, don’t you, Nicky?” “There seems to be coming over me a dim remembrance of the person you speak of and the circumstance you relate; but I am not clear.” “Governor, give him more ‘Memory Fluid,’ and he will nail the villain in twenty-four hours.” “What position does he now occupy?” asked Guillermo Gonzales. “I am anxious to know, as you say he is a notch higher in the social scale than in his other life.” “He is president of the Maguey Paper Factory, and is as dishonest now, in a polite way, as he was in that memorable year, in an uproarious fashion. He is not contented with the immense profit he derives from the sale of the superior paper he manufactures, but he takes the dry maguey leaves, boils them for days—until they are in a pulp—strains it; ferments the liquid and sells it for a kind of rum, which he claims will cure insanity, and I, for one, believe him. I have personally known a dozen or more credulous people—those who are always taking something to aid digestion or strengthen the mind—I say, I believe in this drink—because they lived only a few days after taking it ‘according to directions.’ The poor demented creatures are now ‘cured’ for one existence at least. It is called ‘Perpetuity Miel.’” “Ah, let me think,” said the Governor; “let me think. I—have received some samples of this rum, with a request to partake of it sparingly, and recommend it to the public.” (He opened a small glass cabinet and took out a large bottle). “Yes, here it is: ‘Perpetuity Miel.’ A strange name, composed of a Latin and Anglo-Saxon word, meaning a sweet, endless duration.” “Do you, Miguey, recall the name of the president of the ‘Maguey Paper Company’?” “I do not; I do not. Strange, I do not know, he being so prominent a man in the various commercial fields,” replied the Governor. Julio Murillo said: “His name in a previous existence was Henry Lexort.” Mr. Niksab cried, as he clutched his fists and fought at some unseen foes in the air, “The same, the same; he was killed at the Jockey Club for cheating in roulette. He had returned to the city, in disguise, after successfully evading the _rurales_—for many months. The great desire again to see the scene of his crime led him back to Chihuahua, with the result I have just mentioned.”