He rose as he saw us and walked unsteadily
toward the table.
"Why--what's the matter?" I cried, certain that m our absence an
attempt had been made on his life, perhaps to carry out the threat
of the curse.
"N-nothing," he gasped, with an attempt at a smile. "Only I--think
I was right--about the poison."
I did not like the way he looked. His hand was unsteady and his
eyes looked badly. But he seemed quite put out when I suggested
that he was working too hard over the case and had better take a
turn outdoors with us and have a bite to eat.
"You--you got it?" he asked, seizing the package that contained
the gourd and unwrapping it nervously.
He laid the gourd on the table, on which were also several jars of
various liquids and a number of other chemicals. At the end of the
table was a large, square package, from which sounds issued, as if
it contained something alive.
"Tell me," I persisted, "what has happened. Has any one been here
since we have been gone?"
"Not a soul," he answered, working his arms and shoulders as if to
get rid of some heavy weight that oppressed his chest.
"Then what has happened that makes you use the oxygen?" I
repeated, determined to get some kind of answer from him.
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