“Just so,” Nick remarked. “I infer that Mr. Garside has proved satisfactory.” “Yes. His position is not a difficult one, as far as that goes, and he has filled it capably. I rather like him, moreover, for he appears to be very much of a gentleman.” “Did he have other recommendations except that of Dunbar, your former secretary?” “No, he did not, nor did I require any.” “As a matter of fact, then, all that you really know about Garside is what Dunbar told you,” Nick observed. Clayton eyed him more sharply. Not only the remark, but also the detective’s voice, were tinged with a subtle, sinister significance that could not be overlooked. “What do you mean, Nick?” he demanded. “What do you imply by that?” “Oh, nothing of consequence, perhaps,” Nick now said carelessly. “But you must have some reason for making that remark.” “It merely occurred to me, Clayton, that you first noticed symptoms of illness about the time that Dunbar left and Garside came here to live,” Nick explained. “That may, of course, have been only a coincidence.” “What else could it be?” Clayton quickly questioned. “Surely, Nick, you don’t suspect Mr. Garside of anything wrong?” “No, no; certainly not,” Nick assured him. “He appears to be, as you say, very much of a gentleman.” “He has my confidence, at least.” “Of which he no doubt is entirely worthy,” Nick allowed. “Now, Clayton, a few words concerning your mother and her abnormal condition. It has, I think, completely mystified the physicians who have been attending her.” “Both mystified and baffled them,” bowed Clayton. “They seem to be all at sea.” “No wonder. For, ordinarily, such a shock as Madame Clayton evidently suffered, while it might deprive one of speech and memory at the outset, soon seeks directly opposite avenues of relief. Memory returns full force, and speech really becomes the safety valve for the overwrought and disordered mind. There must, in my opinion, be some unsuspected cause for Madame Clayton’s remaining in this apathetic condition.” “But what cause?” Clayton doubtfully questioned. “Surely, if you are right, the physicians ought to discover it.” “Those who have been attending her may not have diagnosed her case from the standpoint I have in mind,” Nick replied, quite enigmatically. “I know of one thing, at least, that might have such an effect upon Madame Clayton.” “You mean?” “Scopolamine.” “Scopolamine?” “Yes.” “I never heard of it. What is it?” “A drug.” “A drug?” Clayton echoed again, brows knitting. “But that’s out of the question, Nick? My mother never was addicted to the use of drugs of any kind.” “Add something to that,” Nick suggested. “Add something to it? What do you mean?” “So far as you know,” said Nick, with a more curious expression on his strong, clean-cut face. Clayton stared at him perplexedly for a moment. “Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “I cannot agree with you. I know positively, Carter, that my mother never used drugs of any kind.”