of doing so. Had I, I should have known better. But I went ahead in
self-confidence and enthusiasm. I told him of a long banished daughter
with whom, in his heart, he was really wishing to become reconciled
but was too proud to say the word. He resented it. He started to stamp
out of this room, but not before I had another telepagram which told
of a misfortune that was soon to overtake the old man himself. If he
had given me a chance I might have saved him, at least have flashed a
telepagram to that daughter myself, but he gave me no chance. He was
gone.

"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 realized 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Burnham--I see you know him--has been superseded by another doctor,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