“We?—why—why—” Helberson stammered, losing his self-possession utterly, “we had nothing to do with it.”

“Didn’t I say you were Doctors Hellborn and Sharper?” inquired the lunatic, laughing.

“My name is Helberson, yes; and this gentleman is Mr. Harper.” replied the former, reassured. “But we are not physicians now; we are—well, hang it, old man, we are gamblers.”

And that was the truth.

“A very good profession—very good, indeed; and, by the way, I hope Sharper here paid over Jarette’s money like an honest stake-holder. A very good and honourable profession,” he repeated, thoughtfully, moving carelessly away; “but I stick to the old one. I am High Supreme Medical Officer of the Bloomingdale Asylum; it is my duty to cure the superintendent.”