Kennedy, however, was not alone. Back of the palms in the
conservatory two beady black eyes were eagerly watching. Long Sin
had noted every movement as his cleverly laid plan miscarried.

Chatting with animation, Kennedy tasted the ice. He had taken only
a couple of spoonfuls when a look of wonder and horror seemed to
spread over his face.

He rose quickly. A cold sweat seemed to break out all over him.
His nerves almost refused to respond. His tongue seemed to be
paralyzed and the muscles of his throat seemed to be like steel
bands.

He took only a few steps, began to stagger, and finally sank down
on the floor.

Elaine screamed.

We rushed in from the library and drawing-room. There lay Kennedy
on the floor, his face most terribly contorted. We gathered around
him and he tried to raise himself and speak, but seemed unable to
utter a sound.

He had fallen near the fountain and one hand drooped over into the
water. As he fell back he seemed to have only just enough strength
to withdraw his hand from the fountain. On the stone coping,
slowly and laboriously, he moved his finger.

"What's the matter, old man?" I asked, bending over him.