As the light went up again Kennedy added: "Oil of turpentine
removes traces of phosphorus, phosphoric acid, or phosphoric
salve, which are insoluble in anything else except ether and
absolute alcohol. Some one who knew that tried to eradicate them,
but did not wholly succeed. O'Connor, see if you can find either
phosphorus, the oil, or the salve anywhere in the shop."

Then as O'Connor and Leslie hurriedly disappeared he added to me:
"Another of those strange coincidences, Walter. You remember the
girl at the hospital? 'Look, don't you see it? She's afire. Her
lips shine--they shine, they shine!'"

Kennedy was still looking carefully over the room. In a little
wicker basket was a newspaper which was open at the page of
theatrical news, and as I glanced quickly at it I saw a most
laudatory paragraph about her.

Beneath the paper were some torn scraps. Kennedy picked them up
and pieced them together. "Dearest Blanche," they read. "I hope
you're feeling better after that dinner last night. Can you meet
me to-night? Write me immediately. Collie."

He placed the scraps carefully in his wallet. There was nothing
more to be done here apparently. As we passed down the corridor we
could hear a man apparently raving in good English and bad French.
It proved to be Millefleur--or Miller--and his raving was as
overdone as that of a third-rate actor. Madame was trying to calm
him.

"Henri, Henri, don't go on so," she was saying.