"I do not know precisely what happened after that, but in some way this man found his daughter, and to-day she is living with him.As for my hopes of getting assistance from him, I lost them from the moment when I made my initial mistake of telling him something distasteful.The daughter hates me and I hate her.I have learned that she never ceases advising the old man against all schemes for investment except those bearing moderate interest and readily realised on.Dr.Burnham - I see you know him - has been superseded by another doctor, I believe.Well, well, I am through with that incident.I must get assistance from other sources.The old man, I think, would have tricked me out of the fruits of my discovery anyhow.Perhaps I am fortunate.Who knows?"A knock at the door cut him short.Prescott opened it, and a messenger boy stood there."Is Professor Kennedy here?" he inquired.
Craig motioned to the boy, signed for the message, and tore it open.
"It is from Dr.Burnham," he exclaimed, handing the message to me.
"Mr.Haswell is dead," I read."Looks to me like asphyxiation by gas or some other poison.Come immediately to his house.Burnham.""You will pardon me," broke in Craig to Prescott, who was regarding us without the slightest trace of emotion, "but Mr.Haswell, the old man to whom I know you referred, is dead, and Dr.Burnham wishes to see me immediately.It was only yesterday that I saw Mr.Haswell and he seemed in pretty good health and spirits.Prescott, though there was no love lost between you and the old man, I would esteem it a great favour if you would accompany me to the house.You need not take any responsibility unless you desire."His words were courteous enough, but Craig spoke in a tone of quiet authority which Prescott found it impossible to deny.Kennedy had already started to telephone to his own laboratory, describing a certain suitcase to one of his students and giving his directions.
It was only a moment later that we were panting up the sloping street that led from the river front.In the excitement I scarcely noticed where we were going until we hurried up the steps to the Haswell house.
The aged caretaker met us at the door.She was in tears.Upstairs in the front room where we had first met the old man we found Dr.
Burnham working frantically over him.It took only a minute to learn what had happened.The faithful Jane had noticed an odour of gas in the hall, had traced it to Mr.Haswell's room, had found him unconscious, and instinctively, forgetting the new Dr.Scott, had rushed forth for Dr.Burnham.Near the bed stood Grace Martin, pale but anxiously watching the efforts of the doctor to resuscitate the blue-faced man who was stretched cold and motionless on the bed.
Dr.Burnham paused in his efforts as we entered."He is dead, all right," he whispered, aside."I have tried everything I know to bring him back, but he is beyond help."There was still a sickening odour of illuminating gas in the room, although the windows were now all open.
Kennedy, with provoking calmness in the excitement, turned from and ignored Dr.Burnham.
"Have you summoned Dr.Scott?" he asked Mrs.Martin.
"No," she replied, surprised."Should I have done so?""Yes.Send James immediately.Mr.Prescott, will you kindly be seated for a few moments."Taking off his coat, Kennedy advanced to the bed where the emaciated figure lay, cold and motionless.Craig knelt down at Mr.Haswell's head and took the inert arms, raising them up until they were extended straight.Then he brought them down, folded upward at the elbow at the side.Again and again he tried this Sylvester method of inducing respiration, but with no more result than Dr.Burnham had secured.He turned the body over on its face and tried the new Schaefer method.There seemed to be not a spark of life left.
"Dr.Scott is out," reported the maid breathlessly, "but they are trying to locate him from his office, and if they do they will send him around immediately."A ring at the doorbell caused us to think that he had been found, but it proved to be the student to whom Kennedy had telephoned at his own laboratory.He was carrying a heavy suitcase and a small tank.
Kennedy opened the suitcase hastily and disclosed a little motor, some long tubes of rubber fitting into a small rubber cap, forceps, and other paraphernalia.The student quickly attached one tube to the little tank, while Kennedy grasped the tongue of the dead man with the forceps, pulled it up off the soft palate, and fitted the rubber cap snugly over his mouth and nose.
"This is the Draeger pulmotor," he explained as he worked, "devised to resuscitate persons who have died of electric shock, but actually found to be of more value in cases of asphyxiation.Start the motor."The pulmotor began to pump.One could see the dead man's chest rise as it was inflated with oxygen forced by the accordion bellows from the tank through one of the tubes into the lungs.Then it fell as the oxygen and the poisonous gas were slowly sucked out through the other tube.Again and again the process was repeated, about ten times a minute.
Dr.Burnham looked on in undisguised amazement.He had long since given up all hope.The man was dead, medically dead, as dead as ever was any gas victim at this stage on whom all the usual methods of resuscitation had been tried and had failed.
Still, minute after minute, Kennedy worked faithfully on, trying to discover some spark of life and to fan it into flame.At last, after what seemed to be a half-hour of unremitting effort, when the oxygen had long since been exhausted and only fresh air was being pumped into the lungs and out of them, there was a first faint glimmer of life in the heart and a touch of colour in the cheeks.
Haswell was coming to.Another half-hour found him muttering and rambling weakly.
"The letter - the letter," he moaned, rolling his glazed eyes about.
"Where is the letter? Send for Grace."
