“I knew him in the old days,” replied Craig evasively.  “My friend here does not know him, but I was in this part of Westchester visiting and having heard he was here thought I would drop in, just for old time’s sake.  That is all.”

“How did you know he was here?” asked the man suspiciously.

“I heard indirectly from a friend of mine, Mrs. Pitts.”

“Oh.”

The man seemed to accept the explanation at its face value.

“Is he very—­very badly?” asked Craig with well-feigned interest.

“Well,” replied the man, a little mollified by a good cigar which I produced, “don’t you go a-telling her, but if he says the name Minna once a day it is a thousand times.  Them drug-dopes has some strange delusions.”

“Strange delusions?” queried Craig.  “Why, what do you mean?”

“Say,” ejaculated the man.  “I don’t know you, You come here saying you’re friends of Mr. Thornton’s.  How do I know what you are?”

“Well,” ventured Kennedy, “suppose I should also tell you I am a friend of the man who committed him.”

“Of Dr. Thompson Lord?”

“Exactly.  My friend here knows Dr. Lord very well, don’t you, Walter?”

Thus appealed to I hastened to add, “Indeed I do.”  Then, improving the opening, I hastened:  “Is this Mr. Thornton violent?  I think this is one of the most quiet institutions I ever saw for so small a place.”

The man shook his head.

“Because,” I added, “I thought some drug fiends were violent and had to be restrained by force, often.”

“You won’t find a mark or a scratch on him, sir,” replied the man.  “That ain’t our system.”

“Not a mark or scratch on him,” repeated Kennedy thoughtfully.  “I wonder if he’d recognise me?”

“Can’t say,” concluded the man.  “What’s more, can’t try.  It’s against the rules.  Only your knowing so many he knows has got you this far.  You’ll have to call on a regular day or by appointment to see him, gentlemen.”

There was an air of finality about the last statement that made Kennedy rise and move toward the door with a hearty “Thank you, for your kindness,” and a wish to be remembered to “poor old Thornton.”

As we climbed into the car he poked me in the ribs.  “Just as good for the present as if we had seen him,” he exclaimed.  “Drug-fiend, friend of Mrs. Pitts, committed by Dr. Lord, no wounds.”

Then he lapsed into silence as we sped back to the city.

“The Pitts house,” ordered Kennedy as we bowled along, after noting by his watch that it was after nine.  Then to me he added, “We must see Mrs. Pitts once more, and alone.”

We waited some time after Kennedy sent up word that he would like to see Mrs. Pitts.  At last she appeared.  I thought she avoided Kennedy’s eye, and I am sure that her intuition told her that he had some revelation to make, against which she was steeling herself.