By an adroit question here and there, as we stood in the reception-hall, I succeeded in getting the story, which seemed to be more of human interest than of news.  I even managed to secure a photograph of Virginia as she was before the strange sleep fell on her.

Briefly, as her sister told it, Virginia was engaged to Hampton Haynes, a young medical student at the college where his father was a professor of diseases of the heart.  The Hayneses were of a fine Southern family which had never recovered from the war and had finally come to New York.  The father, Dr. Calvert Haynes, in addition to being a well-known physician, was the family physician of the Blakeleys, as I already knew.  “Twice the date of the marriage has been set, only to be postponed,” added Cynthia Blakeley.  “We don’t know what to do.  And Hampton is frantic.”

“Then this is really the second attack of the morbid sleep?” I queried.

“Yes—­in a few weeks.  Only the other wasn’t so long—­not more than a day.”

She said it in a hesitating manner which I could not account for.  Either she thought there might be something more back of it or she recalled her mother’s aversion to reporters and did not know whether she was saying too much or not.

“Do you really fear that there is something wrong?” I asked, significantly, hastily choosing the former explanation.

Cynthia Blakeley looked quickly at the door through which her mother had retreated.

“I—­I don’t know,” she replied, tremulously.  “I don’t know why I am talking to you.  I’m so afraid, too, that the newspapers may say something that isn’t true.”

“You would like to get at the truth, if I promise to hold the story back?” I persisted, catching her eye.

“Yes,” she answered, in a low tone, “but—­” then stopped.

“I will ask my friend, Professor Kennedy, at the university, to come here,” I urged.

“You know him?” she asked, eagerly.  “He will come?”

“Without a doubt,” I reassured, waiting for her to say no more, but picking up the telephone receiver on a stand in the hall.

Fortunately I found Craig at his laboratory and a few hasty words were all that was necessary to catch his interest.

“I must tell mother,” Cynthia cried, excitedly, as I hung up the receiver.  “Surely she cannot object to that.  Will you wait here?”

As I waited for Craig, I tried to puzzle the case out for myself.  Though I knew nothing about it as yet, I felt sure that I had not made a mistake and that there was some mystery here.

Suddenly I became aware that the two women were talking in the next room, though too low for me to catch what they were saying.  It was evident, however, that Cynthia was having some difficulty in persuading her mother that everything was all right.

“Well, Cynthia,” I heard her mother say, finally, as she left the room for one farther back, “I hope it will be all right—­that is all I can say.”