“What is it you suspect?” thundered Mac.

“Either some cruel trick has been played upon the boy, or he has been guilty of some act of madness”—­

“Impossible!” cried we in a breath; “Clarian is as pure as Heaven.”

“Look at him, Thorne!” said my good chum,—­“look at the child’s baby-face, so frank and earnest!—­look at him!  You dare not say an impure thought ever awoke in that brain, an impure word ever crossed those lips.”

Dr. Thorne smiled sadly.

“There is no standard of reason to the enthusiast, my dear Mac; and here is one, of a surety.  However, time will reveal; I wish I knew.  Come, Ned, help me to mix some medicines here.  Be careful to keep his head right, Mac, so as to have the circulation as free as possible.”

While we were occupied in the front room, there came a stout double knock at the door, and when I opened it, Hullfish, the weather-beaten old constable of the borough, made his hesitating appearance.  The Doctor gave me a quick glance, as if to say, “I told you so,” and then returned the old man’s bluff salutation.  As soon as Hullfish saw him, he came forward with something like a sigh of relief, and said,—­

“Ah, Doc, you here?  ’Tar’n’t a hoax, then, though I was mightily ’feared it was.  Them students is the Devil for chivying of a feller,—­beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Blount.  Have you got him yonder, Doctor?” said he, his keen eye noticing Mac and Clarian in the back room.

“What do you mean, Hullfish?  Got whom?” asked Thorne, making me a sign to be quiet.

“The party, Sir, that was to be copped.  I’ve got a blank warrant here, all right, and a pair of bracelets, in case of trouble.”

“What fool’s errand is this, old man?” asked the Doctor, sternly.

“What! you don’t know about it?  Lord! p’raps it’s a sell, after all,” said he, quite chopfallen.  “But I’ve got my pay, anyhow, and there’s no mistake in a V on the Princeton Bank.  And here’s the papers,” said he, handing a note to the Doctor.  “If that’s slum, I’m done, that’s all.”

The Doctor glanced at the scrap of paper, then handed it to me, asking, “Is that his handwriting?”

It was a note, requiring Mr. Hullfish. to privately arrest a person guilty of a capital offence, until now concealed.  If he was not brought to Hullfish’s house between nine and ten that night, then Hullfish was to proceed to No.—­North College, where he would be certain to find the party.  The arrest must be made quietly.  The handwriting was undoubtedly Clarian’s, and I told Thorne as much.

“You see, gentlemen,” said Hullfish, “I wouldn’t ‘a’ taken no notice of it, ef it hadn’t been for the money; but, thinks I, them students a’n’t in the habit of sech costly jokes, and maybe there’ll be some pinching to do, after all.  So you mean to say it’s a gam, do you, Doctor?  May I be so bold as to inquire what yonder chap’s holding on to ’tother about?”