There, after the usual cutting of red tape which only Miss Euston
could have accomplished, we were led by a white-uniformed nurse
through the silent halls to the private room occupied by Barnes.

"It's a most peculiar case," whispered the young doctor in charge,
as we paused at the door. "I want you to notice his face and his
cough. His pulse seems very weak, almost imperceptible at times.
The stethoscope reveals subcrepitant sounds all over his lungs.
It's like bronchitis or pneumonia--but it isn't either."

We entered. Barnes was lying there almost in a state of
unconsciousness. As we stood watching him he opened his eyes. But
he did not see us. His vision seemed to be riveted on Miss Euston.
He murmured something that we could not catch, and, as his eyes
closed again, his face seemed to relax into a peaceful expression,
as though he were dreaming of something happy.

Suddenly, however, the old tense lines reappeared. Another idea
seemed to have been suggested.

"Is--Lane--hiring the men--himself?" he murmured.

The sight of Maude Euston had prompted the thought of his rival,
now with a clear field. What did it mean? Was he jealous of Lane,
or did his words have a deeper meaning? What difference could it
have made if Lane had a free hand in managing the shipment of
treasure for the company?

Kennedy looked long and carefully at the face of the sick man. It