First he studied them
under a powerful lens, then by chemical reactions, until he made visible
some peculiar crystals. Locke himself was amazed as his friend worked.
"You don't know it all--yet--my boy," smiled the aged professor.
"There's still something the old teacher can add to your education, and
I'm glad, Quentin, very glad, for it will draw you closer to me again. I
need you to carry on my work when I must lay it down. I'm not positive,"
he continued, "but I believe these crystals to be those of _Dhatura
stramonium_, and, as you say speed's the thing, we'll begin by noting
the effect of the stuff as a gas on that guinea-pig over there."
"Have you masks?" asked Locke, with true scientific caution.
"Yes--on the shelf. You're keen, Quentin. These fumes can penetrate the
tiniest aperture and, if my guess is right, without a mask, you would
quickly laugh yourself to death."
"Don't, Professor, don't joke, for there is no joy in that mad laughter.
It is horrible, maddening, even to the hearer. Let us get to work. The
father of the girl I love may even now be sinking to his death. We must
determine the nature of this deadly stuff, and then find an antidote.
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