“Out of the way, Tootles,” said Drummond happily. “You’ll scream with laughter when I tell you the truth. Though we’d best make certain the swab hasn’t got a gun.”
With a quick heave he jerked the cowering man out from behind the lawyer, who immediately rushed to the door shouting for help.
“A madman,” he bellowed to his amazed staff. “Send for a keeper, and a straight-jacket.”
He turned around, for a sudden silence had settled on the room behind. Drummond was standing motionless gripping both the Professor’s arms, with a look of amazement slowly dawning on his face. Surely he couldn’t be mistaken, and yet—unless Peterson had suffered from some wasting disease—what on earth had happened to the man? The arms he felt under the coat-sleeve were thin as match-sticks, whereas Peterson as he
