"Sure. You saw the thing and I verified it," declared the policeman. "It won't take ten minutes. Your name and address, in case this man dies."
"I see. Very well."
Kitty wasn't sure, but the policeman seemed embarrassed about something. The directness was gone from his eyes and his speech was no longer brisk.
"My name is Conover," said Kitty.
"I got that coming in," replied the policeman. "We'll be on our way."
Not once again did the squat man glance at the man on the bed. He followed the policeman into the hall, his air that of one who had accepted a certain obligation to community welfare and cancelled it.
Kitty shut the door—and leaned against it weakly. Where had Cutty gone? Even as she expressed the query she smelt burning tobacco. She ran out into the kitchen, to behold Cutty seated in a chair calmly smoking his infamous pipe!
"And I thought you were gone! What did you say to that policeman?"
"I hypnotized him, Kitty."
"The newspaper?"
"No. Just looked into his eye and made a few passes with my hands."
"Of course, if you believe you ought not to tell
