“So, there!--perish my love of woman!--and--and--anathema upon everything from anywhere that takes advantage of friendship and hospitality, that plays upon a woman’s vanity and with the honor of an honest man!” And the plotters, but momentarily disturbed, had glided down stairs and sought another retreat. Their sorrow was soon modified, for they remembered presently that they could, in reality, defy all the statutes of all the states. They remembered that they could not be _separated_ by law, even though the party of the third part could not be _eliminated_ by law. _It was now Bill Vanderhook’s time to meditate._ CHAPTER VIII. THE MAN IN THE CELLAR. The genial druggist was a changed man. Without a smile he now listened when they talked of him for Congress. He performed the duties of Mayor perfunctorily. The hours at the office palled on him. He collected the fees with a cold, studied indifference. The Chicago papers were unread. Whether it was the “Cubs” or the “Tigers” made no impression on his preoccupation. Life seemed to have lost its zest. Even the drug store was conducted incidentally, as it were. The attention of William K. Vanderhook was elsewhere. The episode of the preceding chapter had hardened his heart and fixed his purpose. It was now Bill’s turn to MEDITATE. “There is,”--he would mutter to himself every little while--“there is in nature an antidote for every poison. Though undiscovered, it still exists. There is, there must be, yes, there _shall_ be some force in nature to oust any astral popinjay ever projected into space. If there are astral poisons (q.e.d.), then there must be antidotes after their own kind. There is, I know, a way to trap every manner of wild beast, every deadly serpent and hurtful insect; and so there is, if I can get onto it, some principle or process by which I can reduce this astral Fakir back into his original elements. And s’elp me jimmykayjones, this Gay Gnani of Gingalee can and must and shall be swept off the face of the--no, he shall be eliminated from the atmosphere he infests.” It will be remembered that Mr. Vanderhook was not only a skilled pharmacist and practical chemist, but he was likewise an electrician of great ability. There came a day, a damp, cloudy day, when he left the drug store early and hurriedly. He went home as fast as the auto could carry him. He avoided the parlor. He struck for the cellar. He approached the potato bins, empty now, as if to meet his requirements. Presently he had them torn out, and there was a large space for whatever might be needed. The next day came masons and carpenters and plumbers. Inside of two weeks the druggist had a laboratory in his cellar of which no man had the key, to which no man had access save himself.