An entire change came over the countenance
and bearing of the maniac; he dropped the cleaver, and, passing to the
other side of the room, took a seat in close proximity to the corpse.
Then turning, the young doctor addressed Hiram: 'Is your presence here
forced or voluntary?'
'Purely accidental.'
'I supposed so. A word with you outside.'
To Hiram this was a joyful summons, and he responded with alacrity.
As they went out, the doctor closed the door, and the two stood together
in the gloomy hall at the top of the staircase.
'Mr. Meeker, you recognize me, doubtless?'
There was no reply.
'I am Dr. Peters, who called to see you about two weeks ago, on behalf
of a poor woman whose dead body is now in that room. I told you, if she
had to be moved, it would kill her. Your agent drove her out, and she
lies here dead! It has made her husband crazy--a temporary lunacy, I
trust--but, whatever it is, there you see the whole.
'I am expecting some persons every moment,' he continued, 'who will
remain here all night, and I will detain you no longer.'
The doctor spoke in such a tone of quiet dignity, that it was impossible
for Hiram to reply. He fumbled for a moment in his coat, and then drew
out his pocket book. Producing several bills, he offered them to the
doctor, muttering half inaudibly something about his desire to pay
funeral expenses.
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