Without so much as a groan, merely a catching at the air, the doctor fell forward upon his supposed patient, and then rolled with a dull heavy sound upon the carpet, to lie motionless--to all appearance dead. "Yah! what a butcher you are, Rogers!" said the sham patient, in a querulous high-pitched tone. "Hold your row! Quick! Listen at that door." The sham patient sprang to the door at the end of the passage, opened it softly, and stood listening. "All right," he whispered, "still as death." "Curse you! hold your row about death," whispered the other as the door was closed. "Lock it." "I was going to," said the younger man, turning the key softly. "Is he there, Harry?" "Yes; all right," came in a whisper from the bearded man, who had softly opened the consulting-room door and peered in at the sleeping figure upon the couch. "Quick! come on." The man addressed as Rogers had stooped down and then gone on one knee, thrusting the life-preserver into his pocket while he examined the doctor, and not noticing that it slipped out onto the skirt of his coat, and rolled aside as he finished his examination, and satisfied himself that there was nothing to be apprehended there. He started up, and followed his companion on tiptoe, and the next minute they were gazing down at the man they had tracked from the diamond-fields and run to earth at last. "Hah!" exclaimed the Mephistopheles of the party; "that's right. Give him one if he moves." This to his bearded companion, who had drawn a life-preserver similar to that his companion had used, as he bent over the sleeping man. "He has had a dose," was whispered back. "You can smell his breath." "Brandy. All right!" cried the youngest of the three, catching up the decanter, smelling it, tasting it with a loud smack of the lips, and pouring out a goodly portion in the empty glass, he handed it to his first companion. "Here, Harry." "Sure it's all right?" was whispered back. "Swear it. Now, Rogers." "Here's mine," said the man, with a grin. "Hot with. Quick, lads!" "Don't touch that," was on the younger man's lips; but his companion raised the glass with a laugh, and as he followed his example by putting the decanter to his mouth, the doctor's assailant literally poured the contents of the tumbler down his throat, and then stood still, put the glass back on the table, gasping and staring straight before him. His companions were not heeding him, for each drank eagerly of the brandy, and were setting down the decanter and glass, when the younger man spoke: "Why, Rogers, old chap!" The man addressed turned his wild staring eyes at him for a moment, as if to answer, and then walked blindly between the sofa and the table, as if to go straight to the wall, reeled and fell, catching at the cloth, which he dragged aside, nearly causing the lamp to go crashing on the floor.