“Naida,” said Thornton, his voice low, shaken, “I feel as though I were in another world.  I have seen what I can hardly make myself believe that I have seen.  I can’t explain—­I am speaking, but my very voice seems strange to me.  I feel as you do about helping others—­how could I feel otherwise?  What we could do I do not know as yet, either—­but I will do anything.  I was a scoffing fool—­and you were cured before my eyes—­a boy was cured—­and that other, deformed as no creature was ever deformed before, was cured”—­Thornton’s lips quivered, and he hid his face in his hands.

“While the iron is hot—­strike,” murmured Madison.  He gazed a moment longer at the group—­Mrs. Thornton’s hand was on her husband’s shoulder now—­then his eyes roved over the frenzied scenes still being enacted everywhere upon the lawn.  “I wonder?” he muttered.  The frown on his forehead cleared suddenly.  “Of course!” said he to Pale Face Harry.  “It’s a cinch—­it’s as good as done!”

Pale Face Harry stared at him queerly.

“No, Harry,” smiled Madison, “my pulse is quite normal now, thank you.  Listen.  This is where we call the first showdown on cold hands—­and the dealer slips himself an ace.”  He drew a key from his pocket and put it in Pale Face Harry’s hand.  “That’s the key of the small trunk in my room at the hotel—­front room, right hand side of the hall.  There’s a check-book in the tray—­and I’ll give you twenty minutes to get back here with it.  You’ll find me somewhere around here, but you needn’t let the whole earth in on the presentation—­see?  Now beat it!”

As Pale Face Harry hurried away, Madison, seemingly as aimless, as hysterical as the hundreds about him, moved here and there, but unostentatiously he kept nearing the upper end of the lawn, and, finally, hidden by the woodshed at the further end of the cottage, he slipped quickly around to the rear.  Here the garden stretched almost to the edge of the sandy beach—­not a soul was in sight—­and the beat of the surf deadened the sound from the front lawn to little more than a low, indistinct murmur.

Quickly now, Madison stepped to where one of the old-fashioned windows, that swung inward from the center like double doors, was open, and, reaching in his hand, tapped sharply twice in succession with his knuckles on the pane.  The sill was not quite on a level with his shoulders and he could see inside—­it was Helena’s room, and the door to the hall was open.  Again he knocked.  Came then the sound of footsteps—­and from the hall the Flopper’s face peered cautiously around the jamb of the door.

“Tell Helena to come here,” called Madison softly.

The Flopper turned his head, called obediently, and in a dazed sort of way came himself to the window.  His face was haggard, and he shivered as he licked his lips.

“I pulled de stunt,” said the Flopper in a croaking voice, “but de kid—­Doc—­did youse see de kid?  I got de shakes—­it’s like de whole of hell an’ de other place was loose, an’ Helena’s gone batty, an’—­pipe her, dere she is.”