At this moment, the broker entered the office.

With the “Herald” in my hand, I made haste to meet him.

“Brake!” I cried, “Mr. Brake! Thank Heaven, you have come! I have passed such a night and look here! Have you seen this abominable canard? This is what has come of my being locked into your

The broker regarded me with a strange look; so strange, that for very amazement I stood still before it. He did not advance to meet me; neither his hand nor his eyes gave me the human sign of welcome; he looked over me, he looked through me, as a man does at one whose acquaintance he has no desire to recognize.

I thought:

“Drayton has crammed him. He too believes that I was shut in here to sleep it off. The story will get out in two hours. I am doomed in this town henceforth for a drunken doctor. I’d better have been killed instantly, as this infernal paper says.”

But I said,

“Mr. Brake? You don’t recognize me, I think. It is I, Dr. Thorne. I couldn’t get here before two. I went to your house last evening. I got the impression you were here, so I came after you. I was locked in here by your confounded watchman. They have this minute let me free. I am in a great hurry to get home. Nice job this is going to be! Have you seen that?”

I put my shaking finger upon the “Herald’s” fiery capitals, and held the column folded towards him.

“Jason,” he said, after an instant’s pause, “pick up the ‘Herald,’ will you? A gust of wind has blown it from the table. There must be a draught. Please shut the door.”

To say that I know of no earthly language which can express the sensation that crawled over me as the broker uttered these words is to say little or nothing about it. I use the expression “crawled” with some faint effort to define the slowness and the repulsiveness with which the suspicion of that to which I dared not and did not give a name, made itself manifest to my mind.

“Excuse me, Brake,” I said with some agitation, “you did not hear what I said. I was locked in. I am in a hurry to get home. Ask Drayton. Drayton let me in. I must get home at once. I shall sue the ‘Herald’ for that outrageous piece of work What do you suppose my wife Good God! She must have read it by this time! Let me by, Brake!”

“Jason,” said the broker, “this is a terrible thing! I feel quite broken up about it.”

“Brake!” I cried, “Henry Brake! Let me pass you! Let me home to my wife! You’re in my way don’t you see? You’re standing directly between me and the door. Let me pass!”

“There’s a private dispatch come,” said the clerk Badly. “It is for you, sir. It is from Mrs. Thorne herself.”

“Brake!” I pleaded, “Brake, Brake! Jason! Mr. Brake! Don’t you hear me?”

“Give me the message, Jason,” said Brake, holding out his hand; he seated himself, as he did so, at the office table, where I had sat the night out; he looked troubled and pale; he handled the message reluctantly, as people do in the certainty of bad news.

“In the name of mercy, Henry Brake!” I cried, “what is the meaning of this? Don’t you hear a word I say? Don’t you feel me? There!” I gripped the broker by the shoulder, and clinched both hands upon him with all my might. “Don’t you feel me? God Almighty! don’t you see me, Brake?”

“When did this dispatch come, Jason?” said the broker. He laid Helen’s message gently down; he had tears in his eyes.

Henry Brake, I pleaded brokenly, for my heart failed me with a mighty fear, answer me, in human pitys name. Are you gone deaf and blind? Or am I struck dumb? Or am I

“It came ten minutes ago, sir,” replied Jason. “It is dated, I see, at midnight. They delivered it as soon as anybody was likely to be stirring, here; a bit before, too; considering the nature of the message, I suppose, sir.”

“It is a terrible affair!” repeated the broker nervously. “I have known the doctor a good many years. He had his peculiarities; but he was a good fellow. Say Jason!”

“Yes, sir?”

“How does it happen that Mrs. Thorne You say this message was dated at midnight?”

“At midnight, sir. 12.15.”

“How is it she didn’t know by that time? I pity the fellow who had to tell her. She’s a very attractive woman.... The ‘Herald’ says Where is that paper?”

“The ‘Herald’ says,” answered Jason decorously, “that he was scooped into the buggy-top, and dragged, and dashed against Here it is.”

He handed his employer the paper, as I had done, or had thought I did, with his finger on the folded column. The broker took the paper, and slowly put on his glasses, and slowly read aloud:

Dr. Thorne was dragged for some little distance, it is thought, before the horse broke free. He must have hit the lamp-post, or the pavement. He was found in the top of the buggy, which was a wreck. The robe was over him, and his face was hidden. His medicine case lay beneath him; the phials were crushed to splinters. Life was extinct when he was discovered. His watch had stopped at five minutes past seven oclock. It so happened that he was not immediately identified, though our reporter could not learn the reason of this extraordinary mischance. By some unpardonable blunder, the body of the distinguished and favourite physician was taken to the Morgue

“That accounts for it,” said Jason.

“‘Was taken to the Morgue,’” read on Mr. Brake with agitated voice. “’It was not until midnight that the mistake was discovered. A messenger was dispatched at twenty minutes after twelve o’clock to the elegant residence of the popular doctor, in Delight Street. The news was broken to the widow as agreeably as possible. Mrs. Thorne is a young and very beautiful woman, on whom this shocking blow falls with uncommon cruelty.

“’The body was carried to Dr. Thorne’s house at one o’clock. The time of the funeral is not yet appointed. The “Herald” will be informed as soon as a decision is reached.

The death of Dr. Thorne is a loss to this community which it is impossible to, hm m his distinguished talents hm m hm m.”

The broker laid down the paper, and sighed.

“I sent for him yesterday, to consult about his affairs,” he observed gently. “It is a pity for her to lose that Santa Ma. She will need it now. I’m sorry for her. I don’t know how he left her, exactly. He did a tremendous business, but he spent as he went. He was a good fellow I always liked the doctor! Terrible affair! Terrible affair! Jason! Where is that advertisement of Grope County Iowa Mortgage? You have filed it in the wrong place! Be more careful in future.”

..."Mr. Brake!” I tried once more; and my voice was the voice of mortal anguish to my own appalled and ringing ear.

“Do you not hear? Can you not see? Is there no one in this place who hears? Or sees me, either?”

An early customer had strayed in; Drayton was there; and the watchman had entered. The men (there were five in all) collected by the broker’s desk, around the morning papers, and spoke to each other with the familiarity which bad news of any public interest creates. They conversed in low tones. Their faces wore a shocked expression. They spoke of me; they asked for more particulars of the tragedy reported by the morning press; they mentioned my merits and defects, but said more about merits than defects, in the merciful, foolish way of people who discuss the newly dead.

“I’ve known him ten years,” said the broker.

“I’ve had the pleasure of the doctor’s acquaintance myself a good while,” said the inspector politely.

“Wasn’t he a quick-tempered man?” asked the customer.

“He cured a baby of mine of the croup,” said the watchman. “It was given up for dead. And he only charged me a dollar and a half. He was very kind to the little chap.”

“He set an ankle for me, once, after a football match,” suggested the clerk. “I wouldn’t ask to be better treated. He wasn’t a bit rough.”

..."Gentlemen,” I entreated, stretching out my hands toward the group, “there is some mistake I must make it understood. I am here. It is I, Dr. Thorne; Dr. Esmerald Thorne. I am in this office. Gentlemen! Listen to me! Look at me! Look in this direction! For God’s sake, try to see me some of you!"...

“He drove too fast a horse,” said the customer. “He always has.”

“I must answer Mrs. Thorne’s message,” said the broker sadly, rising and pushing back the office chair.

...I shrank, and tried no more. I bowed my head, and said no other word. The truth, incredible and terrible though it were, the truth which neither flesh nor spirit can escape, had now forced itself upon my consciousness.

I looked across the broker’s office at those five warm human beings as if I had looked across the width of the breathing world. Naught had I now to say to them; naught could they communicate to me. Language was not between us, nor speech, nor any sign. Need of mine could reach them not, nor any of their kind. For I was in the dead, and they the living men.

..."Here is your dog, sir,” said Jason. “He has followed you in. He is trying to speak to you, in his way.”

The broker stooped and patted the dumb brute affectionately. “I understand, Lion,” he said. “Yes, I understand you.”

The dog looked lovingly up into his master’s face, and whined for joy.