“Drinking-saloon!  You surprise me, doctor.”

“I feel bitter this morning; and when the bitterness prevails, I am apt to call things by strong names.  Yes, I say drinking-saloon, Doctor Angier.  What matters it in the dispensation whether you give away or sell the liquor, whether it be done over a bar or set out free to every guest in a merchant’s elegant banqueting-room?  The one is as much a liquor-saloon as the other.  Men go away from one, as from the other, with heads confused and steps unsteady and good resolutions wrecked by indulgence.  Knowing that such things must follow; that from every fashionable entertainment some men, and women too, go away weaker and in more danger than when they came; that boys and young men are tempted to drink and the feet of some set in the ways of ruin; that health is injured and latent diseases quickened into force; that evil rather than good flows from them,—­knowing all this, I say, can any man who so turns his house, for a single evening, into a drinking-saloon—­I harp on the words, you see, for I am feeling bitter—­escape responsibility?  No man goes blindly in this way.”

“Taking your view of the case,” replied Dr. Angier, “there may be another death laid at the door of Mr. Birtwell.”

“Whose?” Dr. Hillhouse turned quickly to his assistant.  They had reached home, and were standing in their office.

“Nothing has been heard of Archie Voss since he left Mr. Birtwell’s last night, and his poor mother is lying insensible, broken down by her fears.”

“Oh, what of her?  I was called for in the night, and you went in my place.”

“I found Mrs. Voss in a state of coma, from which she had only partially recovered when I left at daylight.  Mr. Voss is in great anxiety about his son, who has never stayed away all night before, except with the knowledge of his parents.”

“Oh, that will all come right,” said Dr. Hillhouse.  “The young man went home, probably, with some friend.  Had too much to drink, it may be, and wanted to sleep it off before coming into his mother’s pressence.”

“There is no doubt about his having drank too much,” returned Dr. Angier.  “I saw him going along the hall toward the street door in rather a bad way.  He had his overcoat on and his hat in his hand.”

“Was any one with him?”

“I believe not.  I think he went out alone.”

“Into that dreadful storm?”

“Yes.”

The countenance of Dr. Hillhouse became very grave: 

“And has not been heard of since?”

“No.”

“Have the police been informed about it?”

“Yes.  The police have had the matter in hand for several hours, but at the time I left not the smallest clue had been found.”

“Rather a bad look,” said Dr. Hillhouse.  “What does Mr. Voss say about it?”

“His mind seems to dwell on two theories—­one that Archie, who had a valuable diamond pin and a gold watch, may have wandered into some evil neighborhood, bewildered by the storm, and there been set upon and robbed—­murdered perhaps.  The other is that he has fallen in some out-of-the-way place, overcome by the cold, and lies buried in the snow.  The fact that no police-officer reports having seen him or any one answering to his description during the night awakens the gravest fears.”