“What nonsense!” said Doctor Crang imperturbably. “Did I stab the gentleman?” He took from his pocket a little case, produced a hypodermic syringe, and pushed back his sleeve. “A doctor is not a magician. If he finds a patient beyond reach of aid what can he be expected to do? My dear Claire, where are your brains to-night--you who are usually so amazingly clever?” “You are mad--insane with drug!” she cried out piteously. He shook his head, and coolly inserted the needle of the hypodermic in his arm. “Not yet,” he said. “I am only implacable. Shall we get on with the story? Monsieur de Lavergne says he sent a gentleman by the name of John Bruce out in your father's car a little while ago for the purpose of obtaining a loan in order that the said John Bruce might return to the gambling joint and continue to play. But Mr. Bruce did not return, and the doll, for some reason being anxious, telephones here to make inquiries. Of course”--there was a savage laugh in his voice--“it is only a suspicion, but could this gentleman on the floor here by any chance be Mr. John Bruce?” “Yes,” she said faintly. “He is John Bruce.” “Thanks!” said Doctor Crang sarcastically. He very carefully replaced his hypodermic in his pocket. “Now another little matter. I happen to know that your father is spending the evening uptown, so I wonder who was in the car with Mr. John Bruce.” She stared at him with flashing eyes. “I was!” she answered passionately. “I don't know what you are driving at! I never did it before, but father was away, and Monsieur de Lavergne was terribly insistent. He said it was for a very special guest. I--I didn't, of course, tell Monsieur de Lavergne that father couldn't go. I only said that I was afraid it would not be convenient to make any loan to-night. But he wouldn't listen to a refusal, and so I went--but Monsieur de Lavergne had no idea that it was any one but father in the car.” Doctor Crang's lips parted wickedly. “Naturally!” he snarled. “I quite understand that you took good care of that! Who drove you?” “Hawkins.” “Drunk as usual, I suppose! Brain too fuddled to ask questions!” “That's not true!” she cried out sharply. “Hawkins hasn't touched a drop for a year.” “All right!” snapped Doctor Crang. “Have it that way, then! Being in his dotage, he makes a good blind, even sober. And so you went for a little ride with Mr. John Bruce to-night?” Claire Veniza was wringing her hands as she glanced in an agony of apprehension at the wounded man on the floor. “Yes,” she said; “but--but won't you----” “And where did you first meet Mr. John Bruce, and how long ago?” he jerked out. Claire Veniza's great brown eyes widened. “Why, I never saw him in my life until to-night!” she exclaimed. “And he wasn't in the car ten minutes. Hawkins drove back to the corner just as he always does with father, and Mr. Bruce got out. Then Hawkins drove me home and went uptown to get father. I--I wish they were here now!”