Kennedy sat with his eyes shaded under his hand for fully an hour
after she had left. Then he suddenly jumped up. "Walter," he
said, "let us go over to Dr. Bell's. I know the head nurse there.
We may possibly learn something."

As we sat in the waiting-room with its thick Oriental rugs and
handsome mahogany furniture, I found myself going back to our
conversation of the early evening. "By Jove, Kennedy, you were
right," I exclaimed. "If there is anything in this germ-plot idea
of hers it is indeed the height of the dramatic--it is
diabolical. No ordinary mortal would ever be capable of it."

Just then the head nurse came in, a large woman breathing of
germlessness and cheerfulness in her spotless uniform. We were
shown every courtesy. There was, in fact, nothing to conceal. The
visit set at rest my last suspicion that perhaps Jim Bisbee had
been poisoned by a drug. The charts of his temperature and the
sincerity of the nurse were absolutely convincing. It had really
been typhoid, and there was nothing to be gained by pursuing that
inquiry further.

Back at the apartment, Craig began packing his suitcase with the
few things he would need for a journey. "I'm going out to Bisbee
Hall to-morrow for a few days, Walter, and if you could find it
convenient to come along I should like to have your assistance."

"To tell you the truth, Craig, I am afraid to go," I said.

"You needn't be. I'm going down to the army post on Governor's