irritant which especially affects the lungs and heart."

"Will you let me have one of the blood smears?" asked Kennedy.

"Certainly," replied the doctor, reaching over and taking a glass
slide from several lying on a table.

For some time after we left the sick-room Craig appeared to be
considering what Doctor Murray had said.

Seeking to find Miss Grey in the library, we found ourselves in
the handsome, all-wood-paneled dining-room. It still showed
evidences of the late banquet of the night before.

Craig paused a moment in doubt which way to go, then picked up
from the table a beautifully decorated menu-card. As he ran his
eye down it mechanically, he paused.

"Champignons," he remarked, thoughtfully. "H-m!--mushrooms."

Instead of going on toward the library, he turned and passed
through a swinging door into the kitchen. There was no one there,
but it was in a much more upset condition than the dining-room.

"Pardon, monsieur," sounded a voice behind us.

It was the French chef who had entered from the direction of the
servants' quarters, and was now all apologies for the untidy
appearance of the realm over which he presided. The strain of the
dinner had been too much for his assistants, he hastened to