Kennedy nodded and took the yellow envelope while Elaine signed for it.  Listlessly he tore it open.  It read: 

Craig Kennedy,

c/o Wellington Brown, Rockledge, N. J.

Jameson very ill.  Wants you.  Better come.

Johnson.

The message seemed to rouse Kennedy in spite of his fever.  His face showed keen alarm, which he endeavored to conceal from Elaine.  But her quick eye had caught the look.

“I must see Walter,” he exclaimed, rising rather weakly and going into the house.

How he ever did it is still, I think, a mystery to him, but he managed to pack up and, in spite of the alternating fever and chills, made the journey back to the city.

When at last Craig arrived at our apartment, it must have seemed to him that he found me almost at death’s door.  I was terribly ill and weak by that time, but had refused to see the doctor again and Johnson had managed to get me into bed.

Ill himself, Kennedy threw himself down for a moment exhausted.  “When did this thing come on Walter?” he asked of Johnson.

“Yesterday, I think, at least as nearly as I can find out,” replied our friend.

Craig was decidedly worried.  “There’s only one person in New York to call on,” he murmured, pulling himself out of bed and getting into the living-room as best he could.

“Is that you, Godowski?” he asked over the telephone.  “Well, doctor, this is Kennedy.  Come over to my apartment, quick.  I’ve a case—­two cases for you.”

Godowski was a world-famous scientist in his line and had specialized in bacteriology, mainly in tropical diseases.

As Kennedy hung up the receiver, he made his way back again to the bedroom, scratching his ear.  He noticed that I was doing the same in my delirium.

“Has Walter been scratching his ear?” he asked of Johnson.

Johnson nodded.  “That’s strange,” considered Craig thoughtfully.  “I’ve been doing the same.”

He turned back into the living-room and for a moment looked about.  Finally his eye happened to fall on the telephone and an idea seemed to occur to him.

He went over to the instrument and unscrewed the receiver.  Carefully he looked inside.  Then he looked closer.  There was something peculiar about it and he picked up a blank sheet of white paper, dusting off the diaphragm on it.  There, on the paper, were innumerable little black specks.

Just then, outside, Dr. Godowski’s car drew up and he jumped out, swinging his black bag.  Not being acquainted with what we were going through, Godowski did not notice the almond-eyed Chinaman who was watching down the street.

“How do you do, doctor,” greeted Craig faintly, at the door.

“What seems to be the difficulty?” inquired the doctor eagerly.

“I don’t know,” returned Craig, “but I have my suspicions.  I’m too ill to verify them myself.  So I’ve called on you.  Look at Jameson first,” he added.