A glance at Mansfield was enough to convince any one that unless
something was done soon the end was not far.

"Another convulsion and sinking-spell is about all he can stand,"
remarked Doctor Murray.

"May I try something?" asked Kennedy, hardly waiting for the
doctor to agree before he had pulled out the little vial which I
had seen him place in his pocket.

Deftly Kennedy injected some of the contents into Mansfield's
side, then stood anxiously watching the effect. The minutes
lengthened. At least he seemed to be growing no worse.

In the next room, on a table, Kennedy was now busy setting out the
scroll of ruled paper and its clockwork arrangement, and
connecting the various tubes from the black cylinders in such a
way that the recording pen just barely touched on the scroll.

He had come back to note the still unchanged condition of the
patient when the door opened and a handsome woman in the early
thirties entered, followed by Helen Grey. It was Mina Leitch.

"Oh, isn't it terrible! I can hardly believe it!" she cried,
paying no attention to us as she moved over to Doctor Murray.

I recalled what Miss Grey had said about Mansfield's attentions.
It was evident that, as far as Mina was concerned, her own
attentions were monopolized by the polished physician. His manner