“Harm!” cried Joe.  “Do you mean this is poison?”

“No, not that.  He said it wouldn’t do you any harm—­that it would only make the act turn out wrong—­that you, nor anybody, would not be hurt.  But I don’t believe him.  I believe he wants to harm you, and I’m going to tell all I know.  I can’t stand it any longer.”

“Look here, Harry!” said Joe sternly, “are you perfectly sober?  Do you know what you’re saying?”

“Yes, I know that, all right, Mr. Strong,” whined the lad.  “I won’t say I haven’t been drinking, for I have.  I did it to try to forget, but it wouldn’t work.  I’m plenty sober enough to know what I’m saying.”

“And you tell me this chemical preparation will work harm to me and those who help me in the fire acts?”

“I don’t know as to that, Mr. Strong.  He told me that it wouldn’t harm you.  But I don’t believe him!  I won’t trust him any more.”

“Who do you mean?” asked Joe.  “Do you know anything about this?” he demanded sternly of Ted Brown.  “You prepared this mixture, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Strong, I did.  I made it just the way you told me.  If you think—­”

“No, he doesn’t know anything about it,” murmured Harry, who seemed to have recovered some of his composure, now that the worst of his confession was over.  “He didn’t have a hand in it.  I’m to blame.  If I hadn’t let him into your tent he couldn’t have doped the stuff.  Oh, I’m sorry!  I was a fool to believe him, but he promised me a lot of money just to keep still, and I’ve done it up to now.  But I’m through with him!”

“Look here!” cried Joe.  “How long has this been going on?  Was this mixture ever doped, as you call it, before?”

“Oh, no, not that I know,” was the answer.  Joe knew this much, at least, was true.  The mixture had always worked perfectly before, and if it had been tampered with that would not have been the case.

“Then what do you mean?” cried the young magician.  “Speak up, can’t you?  Be a man!  If you haven’t done anything really wrong you won’t be punished.  I’m after the person back of you.  Speak up!  Who is he?”

He realized that Harry Loper was but a weak tool in the hands of some one else, and many things that had seemed strange came back to Joe with a sudden rush now.  He might be able to learn who it was that had such enmity against him and the circus.

“Are you going to tell me?” demanded Joe.

“Yes!  Yes!  I’ll tell you everything!” was the answer.  “I can’t stand it any longer.  I can’t eat in comfort any more, and I can’t sleep!  First he promised to pay me for letting him come to your tent when you were out.  Then he threatened to kill me if I told.  But I’m going to tell.  I don’t care what he does!”

“But if this is the first time my chemical mixture has been doped, what do you mean about ‘him,’ whoever he is, coming to my tent at other times?” asked Joe.  “What other times were they?”