Craig motioned to the boy, signed for the message, and tore it open.  “It is from Dr. Burnham,” he exclaimed, handing the message to me.

“Mr. Haswell is dead,” I read.  “Looks to me like asphyxiation by gas or some other poison.  Come immediately to his house.  Burnham.”

“You will pardon me,” broke in Craig to Prescott, who was regarding us without the slightest trace of emotion, “but Mr. Haswell, the old man to whom I know you referred, is dead, and Dr. Burnham wishes to see me immediately.  It was only yesterday that I saw Mr. Haswell and he seemed in pretty good health and spirits.  Prescott, though there was no love lost between you and the old man, I would esteem it a great favor if you would accompany me to the house.  You need not take any responsibility unless you desire.”

His words were courteous enough, but Craig spoke in a tone of quiet authority which Prescott found it impossible to deny, Kennedy had already started to telephone to his own laboratory, describing a certain suitcase to one of his students and giving his directions.  It was only a moment later that we were panting up the sloping street that led from the river front.  In the excitement I scarcely noticed where we were going until we hurried up the steps to the Haswell house.

The aged caretaker met us at the door.  She was in tears.  Upstairs in the front room where we had first met the old man we found Dr. Burnham working frantically over him.  It took only a minute to learn what had happened.  The faithful Jane had noticed an odor of gas in the hall, had traced it to Mr. Haswell’s room, had found him unconscious, and instinctively, forgetting the new Dr. Scott, had rushed forth for Dr. Burnham.  Near the bed stood Grace Martin, pale but anxiously watching the efforts of the doctor to resuscitate the blue-faced man who was stretched cold and motionless on the bed.

Dr. Burnham paused in his efforts as we entered.  “He is dead, all right,” he whispered, aside.  “I have tried everything I know to bring him back, but he is beyond help.”

There was still a sickening odor of illuminating gas in the room, although the windows were now all open.

Kennedy, with provoking calmness in the excitement, turned from and ignored Dr. Burnham.  “Have you summoned Dr. Scott?” he asked Mrs. Martin.

“No,” she replied, surprised.  “Should I have done so?”

“Yes.  Send Jane immediately.  Mr. Prescott, will you kindly be seated for a few moments.”

Taking off his coat, Kennedy advanced to the bed where the emaciated figure lay, cold and motionless.  Craig knelt down at Mr. Haswell’s head and took the inert arms, raising them up until they were extended straight.  Then be brought them down, folded upward at the elbow at the side.  Again and again he tried this Sylvester method of inducing respiration, but with no more result than Dr. Burnham had secured.  He turned the body over on its face and tried the new Schaefer method.  There seemed to be not a spark of life left.