CHAPTER X
THE LIFE CURRENT
Assignments were being given out on the Star one afternoon, and I wasstanding talking with several other reporter in the busy hum oftypewriters and clicking telegraphs.
"What do you think of that?" asked one of the fellows. "You'resomething of a scientific detective, aren't you?"
Without laying claim to such a distinction, I took the paper and read:
THE POISONED KISS AGAIN
Three More New York Women Report Being Kissed by MysteriousStranger--Later Fell into Deep Unconsciousness. What Is It?
I had scarcely finished, when one of the copy boys, dashing past me,called, "You're wanted on the wire, Mr. Jameson."
I hurried over to the telephone and answered.
A musical voice responded to my hurried hello, and I hastened to adoptmy most polite tone.
"Is this Mr. Jameson?" asked the voice.
"Yes," I replied, not recognizing it.
"Well, Mr. Jameson, I've heard of you on the Star and I've just had avery strange experience. I've had the poisoned kiss."
The woman did not pause to catch my exclamation of astonishment, butwent on, "It was like this. A man ran up to me on the street and kissedme--and--I don't know how it was--but I became unconscious--and Ididn't come to for an hour--in a hospital--fortunately. I don't knowwhat would have happened if it hadn't been that someone came to myassistance and the man fled. I thought the Star would be interested."
"We are," I hastened to reply. "Will you give me your name?"
"Why, I am Mrs. Florence Leigh of number 20 Prospect Avenue," returnedthe voice. "Really, Mr. Jameson, something ought to be done about thesecases."
"It surely had," I assented, with much interest, writing her nameeagerly down on a card. "I'll be out to interview you, directly."
The woman thanked me and I hung up the receiver.
"Say," I exclaimed, hurrying over to the editor's desk, "here's anotherwoman on the wire who says she has received the poisoned kiss.
"Suppose you take that assignment," the editor answered, sensing apossible story.
I took it with alacrity, figuring out the quickest way by elevated andsurface car to reach the address.
The conductor of the trolley indicated Prospect Avenue and I hurried upthe street until I came to the house, a neat, unpretentious place.Looking at the address on the card first to make sure, I rang the bell.
I must say that I could scarcely criticize the poisoned kisser's taste,for the woman who had opened the door certainly was extraordinarilyattractive.
"And you really were--put out by a kiss?" I queried, as she led me intoa neat sitting room.
"Absolutely--as much as if it had been by one of these poisoned needlesyou read about," she replied confidently, hastening on to describe theaffair volubly.
It was beyond me.
"May I use your telephone?" I asked.
"Surely," she answered.
I called the laboratory. "Is that you, Craig?" I inquired.
"Yes, Walter," he answered, recognizing my voice.
"Say, Craig," I asked breathlessly, "what sort of kiss would suffocatea person."
My only answer was an uproarious laugh from him at the idea.
"I know," I persisted, "but I've got the assignment from the Star--andI'm out here interviewing a woman about it. It's all right tolaugh--but here I am. I've found a case--names, dates and places. Iwish you'd explain the thing, then."
"Oh, all right, Walter," he replied indulgently. "I'll meet you as soonas I can and help you out."
I hung up the receiver with an air of satisfaction. At least now Iwould get an explanation of the woman's queer story.
"I'll clear this thing up," I said confidently. "My friend, CraigKennedy, the scientific detective is coming out here."
"Good! That fellow who attacked me ought to be shown up. All women maynot be as fortunate as I."
We waited patiently. Her story certainly was remarkable. She rememberedevery detail up to a certain point--and then, as she said, all wasblankness.
The bell rang and the woman hastened to the door admitting Kennedy.
"Hello, Walter," he greeted.
"This is certainly a most remarkable case, Craig," I said, introducinghim, and telling briefly what I had learned.
"And you actually mean to say that a kiss had the effect--" Just thenthe telephone interrupted.
"Yes," she reasserted quickly. "Excuse me a second."
She answered the call. "Oh--why--yes, he's here. Do you want to speakto him? Mr. Jameson, it's the Star."
"Confound it!" I exclaimed, "isn't that like the old man--dragging meoff this story before it's half finished in order to get another. I'llhave to go. I'll get this story from you, Craig."
. . . . . . . .
The day before, in the suburban house, the Clutching Hand had beentalking to two of his emissaries, an attractive young woman and a man.
They were Flirty Florrie and Dan the Dude.
"Now, I want you to get Kennedy," he said. "The way to do it is toseparate Kennedy and Elaine--see?"
"All right, Chief, we'll do it," they replied.
"I've rigged it so that you'll reach him through Jameson, understand?"
They nodded eagerly as he told them the subtle plan.
Clutching Hand had scarcely left when Flirty Florrie began by gettingpublished in the papers the story which I had seen.
The next day she called me up from the suburban house. Having got me topromise to see her, she had scarcely turned from the telephone when Danthe Dude walked in from the next room.
"He's coming," she said.
Dan was carrying a huge stag head with a beautifully branched pair ofantlers. Under his arm was a coil of wire which he had connected to theinside of the head.
"Fine!" he exclaimed. Then, pointing to the head, he added, "It's allready. See how I fixed it? That ought to please the Chief."
Dan moved quickly to the mantle and mounted a stepladder there by whichhe had taken down the head, and started to replace the head above themantle.
He hooked the head on a nail.
"There," he said, unscrewing one of the beautiful brown glass eyes ofthe stag.
Back of it could be seen a camera shutter. Dan worked the shutterseveral times to see whether it was all right.
"One of those new quick shutter cameras," he explained.
Then he ran a couple of wires along the moulding, around the room andinto a closet, where he made the connection with a sort of switchboardon which a button was marked, "SHUTTER" and the switch, "WIND FILM."
"Now, Flirty," he said, coming out of the closet and pulling up theshade which let a flood of sunlight into the room, "you see, I want youto stand here--then, do your little trick. Get me?"
"I get you Steve," she laughed.
Just then the bell rang.
"That must be Jameson," she cried. "Now--get to your corner."
With a last look Dan went into the closet and shut the door.
Perhaps half an hour later, Clutching Hand himself called me up on thetelephone. It was he--not the Star--as I learned only too late.
. . . . . . . .
I had scarcely got out of the house, as Craig told me afterwards, whenFlirty Florrie told all over again the embroidered tale that had caughtmy ear.
Kennedy said nothing, but listened intently, perhaps betraying in hisface the scepticism he felt.
"You see," she said, still voluble and eager to convince him, "I wasonly walking on the street. Here,--let me show you. It was just likethis."
She took his arm and before he knew it, led him to the spot on thefloor near the window which Dan had indicated. Meanwhile Dan waslistening attentively in his closet.
"Now--stand there. You are just as I was--only I didn't expectanything."
She was pantomiming someone approaching stealthily while Kennedywatched her with interest, tinged with doubt. Behi
nd Craig, in hiscloset, Dan was reaching for the switchboard button.
"You see," she said advancing quickly and acting her words, "he placedhis hands on my shoulders--so--then threw his arms about my neck--so."
She said no more, but imprinted a deep, passionate kiss on Kennedy'smouth, clinging closely to him. Before Kennedy could draw away, Dan, inthe closet, had pressed the button and the switch several times inrapid succession.
"Th-that's very realistic," gasped Craig, a good deal taken aback bythe sudden osculatory assault.
He frowned.
"I--I'll look into the case," he said, backing away. "There may be somescientific explanation--but--er--"
He was plainly embarrassed and hastened to make his adieux.
Kennedy had no more than shut the door before Dan, with a gleefullaugh, burst out of the closet and flung his own arms about Florrie inan embrace that might have been poisoned, it is true, but was none theless real for that.
. . . . . . . .
How little impression the thing made on Kennedy can be easily seen fromthe fact that on the way downtown that afternoon he stopped atMartin's, on Fifth Avenue, and bought a ring--a very handsomesolitaire, the finest Martin had in the shop.
It must have been about the time that he decided to stop at Martin'sthat the Dodge butler, Jennings, admitted a young lady who presented acard on which was engraved the name
Miss FLORENCE LEIGH 20 Prospect Avenue.
As he handed Elaine the card, she looked up from the book she wasreading and took it.
"I don't know her," she said puckering her pretty brow. "Do you? Whatdoes she look like?"
"I never saw her before, Miss Elaine," Jennings shrugged. "But she isvery well dressed."
"All right, show her in, Jennings. I'll see her."
Elaine moved into the drawing room, Jennings springing forward to partthe portieres for her and passing through the room quickly where FlirtyFlorrie sat waiting. Flirty Florrie rose and stood gazing at Elaine,apparently very much embarrassed, even after Jennings had gone.
There was a short pause. The woman was the first to speak.
"It IS embarrassing," she said finally, "but, Miss Dodge, I have cometo you to beg for my love."
Elaine looked at her non-plussed.
"Yes," she continued, "you do not know it, but Craig Kennedy isinfatuated with you." She paused again, then added, "But he is engagedto me."
Elaine stared at the woman. She was dazed. She could not believe it.
"There is the ring," Flirty Florrie added indicating a very impressivepaste diamond.
Elaine frowned but said nothing. Her head was in a whirl. She could notbelieve. Although Florrie was very much embarrassed, she was quite asevidently very much wrought up. Quickly she reached into her bag anddrew out two photographs, without a word, handing them to Elaine.Elaine took them reluctantly.
"There's the proof," Florrie said simply, choking a sob.
Elaine looked with a start. Sure enough, there was the neat living roomin the house on Prospect Avenue. In one picture Florrie had her armsover Kennedy's shoulders. In the other, apparently, they werepassionately kissing.
Elaine slowly laid the photographs on the table.
"Please--please, Miss Dodge--give me back my lost love. You are richand beautiful--I am poor. I have only my good looks. But--I--I lovehim--and he--loves me--and has promised to marry me."
Filled with wonder, and misgivings now, and quite as much embarrassedat the woman's pleadings as the woman herself had acted a momentbefore, Elaine tried to wave her off.
"Really--I--I don't know anything about all this. It--it doesn'tconcern me. Please--go."
Florrie had broken down completely and was weeping softly into a lacehandkerchief.
She moved toward the door. Elaine followed her.
"Jennings--please see the lady to the door."
Back in the drawing room, Elaine almost seized the photographs andhurried into the library where she could be alone. There she stoodgazing at them--doubt, wonder, and fear battling on her plasticfeatures.
Just then she heard the bell and Jennings in the hall.
She shoved the photographs away from her on the table.
It was Kennedy himself, close upon the announcement of the butler. Hewas in a particularly joyous and happy mood, for he had stopped atMartin's.
"How are you this afternoon?" he greeted Elaine gaily.
Elaine had been too overcome by what had just happened to throw it offso easily, and received him with a quickly studied coolness.
Still, Craig, man-like, did not notice it at once. In fact he was toobusy gazing about to see that neither Jennings, Marie, nor the duennaAunt Josephine were visible. They were not and he quickly took the ringfrom his pocket. Without waiting, he showed it to Elaine. In fact, sosure had he been that everything was plain sailing, that he seemed totake it almost for granted. Under other circumstances, he would havebeen right. But not tonight.
Elaine very coolly admired the ring, as Craig might have eyed aspecimen on a microscope slide. Still, he did not notice.
He took the ring, about to put it on her finger. Elaine drew away.Concealment was not in her frank nature.
She picked up the two photographs.
"What have you to say about those?" she asked cuttingly.
Kennedy, quite surprised, took them and looked at them. Then he letthem fall carelessly on the table and dropped into a chair, his headback in a burst of laughter.
"Why--that was what they put over on Walter," he said. "He called me upearly this afternoon--told me he had discovered one of these poisonedkiss cases you have read about in the papers. Think of it--all that topull a concealed camera! Such an elaborate business--just to get mewhere they could fake this thing. I suppose they've put some one up tosaying she's engaged?"
Elaine was not so lightly affected. "But," she said severely,repressing her emotion, "I don't understand, MR. Kennedy, howscientific inquiry into 'the poisoned kiss' could necessitate this sortof thing."
She pointed at the photographs accusingly.
"But," he began, trying to explain.
"No buts," she interrupted.
"Then you believe that I--"
"How can you, as a scientist, ask me to doubt the camera," sheinsinuated, very coldly turning away.
Kennedy rapidly began to see that it was far more serious than he hadat first thought.
"Very well," he said with a touch of impatience, "if my word is not tobe taken--I--I'll--"
He had seized his hat and stick.
Elaine did not deign to answer.
Then, without a word he stalked out of the door.
As he did so, Elaine hastily turned and took a few steps after him, asif to recall her words, then stopped, and her pride got the better ofher.
She walked slowly back to the chair by the table--the chair he had beensitting in--sank down into it and cried.
. . . . . . . .
Kennedy was moping in the laboratory the next day when I came in.
Just what the trouble was, I did not know, but I had decided that itwas up to me to try to cheer him up.
"Say, Craig," I began, trying to overcome his fit of blues.
Kennedy, filled with his own thoughts, paid no attention to me. Still,I kept on.
Finally he got up and, before I knew it, he took me by the ear andmarched me into the next room.
I saw that what he needed chiefly was to be let alone, and he went backto his chair, dropping down into it and banging his fists on the table.Under his breath he loosed a small volley of bitter expletives. Then hejumped up.
"By George--I WILL," he muttered.
I poked my head out of the door in time to see him grab up his hat andcoat and dash from the room, putting his coat on as he went.
"He's a nut today," I exclaimed to myself.
Though I did not know, yet, of the quarrel, Kennedy had reallystruggled with himself until he was wil
ling to put his pride in hispocket and had made up his mind to call on Elaine again.
As he entered, he saw that it was really of no use, for only AuntJosephine was in the library.
"Oh, Mr. Kennedy," she said innocently enough, "I'm so sorry she isn'there. There's been something troubling her and she won't tell me whatit is. But she's gone to call on a young woman, a Florence Leigh, Ithink."
"Florence Leigh!" exclaimed Craig with a start and a frown. "Let me useyour telephone."
I had turned my attention in the laboratory to a story I was writing,when I heard the telephone ring. It was Craig. Without a word ofapology for his rudeness, which I knew had been purely absent-minded, Iheard him saying, "Walter--meet me in half an hour outside thatFlorence Leigh's house."
He was gone in a minute, giving me scarcely time to call back that Iwould.
Then, with a hasty apology for his abruptness, he excused himself,leaving Aunt Josephine wondering at his strange actions.
At about the same time that Craig had left the laboratory, at the Dodgehouse Elaine and Aunt Josephine had been in the hall near the library.Elaine was in her street dress.
"I'm going out, Auntie," she said with an attempted gaiety. "And," sheadded, "if anyone should ask for me, I'll be there."
She had showed her a card on which was engraved, the name and addressof Florence Leigh.
"All right, dear," answered Aunt Josephine, not quite clear in her mindwhat subtle change there was in Elaine.
. . . . . . . .
Half an hour later I was waiting near the house in the suburbs to whichI had been directed by the strange telephone call the day before. Inoticed that it was apparently deserted. The blinds were closed and a"To Let" sign was on the side of the house.
"Hello, Walter," cried Craig at last, bustling along. He stopped amoment to look at the house. Then, together, we went up the steps andwe rang the bell, gazing about.
"Strange," muttered Craig. "The house looks deserted."
He pointed out the sign and the generally unoccupied look of the place.Nor was there any answer to our ring. Kennedy paused only a second, inthought.
"Come on, Walter," he said with a sudden decision. "We've got to get inhere somehow."
He led the way around the side of the house to a window, and with apowerful grasp, wrenched open the closed shutters. He had just smashedthe window viciously with his foot when a policeman appeared.
"Hey, you fellows--what are you doing there?" he shouted.
Craig paused a second, then pulled his card from his pocket.
"Just the man I want," he parried, much to the policeman's surprise,"There's something crooked going on here. Follow us in."
We climbed into the window. There was the same living room we had seenthe day before. But it was now bare and deserted. Everything was goneexcept an old broken chair. Craig and I were frankly amazed at thecomplete and sudden change and I think the policeman was a littlesurprised, for he had thought the place occupied.
"Come on," cried Kennedy, beckoning us on.
Quickly he rushed through the house. There was not a thing in it tochange the deserted appearance of the first floor. At last it occurredto Craig to grope his way down cellar. There was nothing there, either,except a bin, as innocent of coal as Mother Hubbard's cupboard was offood. For several minutes we hunted about without discovering a thing.
Kennedy had been carefully going over the place and was at the otherside of the cellar from ourselves when I saw him stop and gaze at thefloor. He was not looking, apparently, so much as listening. I strainedmy ears, but could make out nothing. Before I could say anything, heraised his hand for silence. Apparently he had heard something.
"Hide," he whispered suddenly to us.
Without another word, though for the life of me I could make nothingout of it, I pulled the policeman into a little angle of the wallnearby, while Craig slipped into a similar angle.
We waited a moment. Nothing happened. Had he been seeing things orhearing things, I wondered?
From our hidden vantage we could now see a square piece in the floor,perhaps five feet in diameter, slowly open up as though on a pivot.Beneath it we could make out a tube-like hole, perhaps three feetacross, with a covered top. It slowly opened.
A weird and sinister figure of a man appeared. Over his head he wore apeculiar helmet with hideous glass pieces over the eyes, and tubes thatconnected with a tank which he carried buckled to his back. As heslowly dragged himself out, I could wonder only at the outlandishheadgear.
Quickly he closed down the cover of the tube, but not before a vileeffluvium seemed to escape, and penetrate even to us in our hidingplaces. As he moved forward, Kennedy gave a flying leap at him, and wefollowed with a regular football interference.
It was the work of only a moment for us to subdue and hold him, whileCraig ripped off the helmet.
It was Dan the Dude.
"What's that thing?" I puffed, as I helped Craig with the headgear.
"An oxygen helmet," he replied. "There must be air down the tube thatcannot be breathed."
He went over to the tube. Carefully he opened the top and gazed down,starting back a second later, with his face puckered up at the noxiousodor.
"Sewer gas," he ejaculated, as he slammed the cover down. Then he addedto the policeman, "Where do you suppose it comes from?"
"Why," replied the officer, "the St. James Drain--an old sewer--issomewhere about these parts."
Kennedy puckered his face as he gazed at our prisoner. He reached downquickly and lifted something off the man's coat.
"Golden hair," he muttered. "Elaine's!"
A moment later he seized the man and shook him roughly.
"Where is she--tell me?" he demanded.
The man snarled some kind of reply, refusing to say a word about her.
"Tell me," repeated Kennedy.
"Humph!" snorted the prisoner, more close-mouthed than ever.
Kennedy was furious. As he sent the man reeling away from him, heseized the oxygen helmet and began putting it on. There was only onething to do--to follow the clue of the golden strands of hair.
Down into the pest hole he went, his head protected by the oxygenhelmet. As he cautiously took one step after another down a series ofiron rungs inside the hole, he found that the water was up to hischest. At the bottom of the perpendicular pit was a narrow low passageway, leading off. It was just about big enough to get through, but hemanaged to grope along it. He came at last to the main drain, an oldstone-walled sewer, as murky a place as could well be imagined, filledwith the foulest sewer gas. He was hardly able to keep his feet in theswirling, bubbling water that swept past, almost up to his neck.
The minutes passed as the policeman and I watched our prisoner in thecellar, by the tube. I looked anxiously at my watch.
"Craig!" I shouted at last, unable to control my fears for him.
No answer. To go down after him seemed out of the question.
By this time, Craig had come to a small open chamber into which thesewer widened. On the wall he found another series of iron rungs upwhich he climbed. The gas was terrible.
As he neared the top of the ladder, he came to a shelf-like aperture inthe sewer chamber, and gazed about. It was horribly dark. He reachedout and felt a piece of cloth. Anxiously he pulled on it. Then hereached further into the darkness.
There was Elaine, unconscious, apparently dead.
He shook her, endeavoring to wake her up. But it was no use.
In desperation Craig carried her down the ladder.
With our prisoner, we could only look helplessly around. Again andagain I looked at my watch as the minutes lengthened. Suppose theoxygen gave out?
"By George, I'm going down after him," I cried in desperation.
"Don't do it," advised the policeman. "You'll never get out."
One whiff of the horrible gas told me that he was right. I should nothave been able to go fifty feet in it. I looked at him in desp
air. Itwas impossible.
"Listen," said the policeman, straining his ears.
There was indeed a faint noise from the black depths below us. A ropealongside the rough ladder began to move, as though someone was pullingit taut. We gazed down.
"Craig! Craig!" I called. "Is that you?"
No answer. But the rope still moved. Perhaps the helmet made itimpossible for him to hear.
He had struggled back in the swirling current almost exhausted by hishelpless burden. Holding Elaine's head above the surface of the waterand pulling on the rope to attract my attention, for he could neitherhear nor shout, he had taken a turn of the rope about Elaine. I triedpulling on it. There was something heavy on the other end and I kept onpulling.
At last I could make out Kennedy dimly mounting the ladder. The weightwas the unconscious body of Elaine which he steadied as he mounted. Itugged harder and he slowly came up.
Together, at last, the policeman and I reached down and pulled them out.
We placed Elaine on the cellar floor, as comfortably as was possible,and the policeman began his first-aid motions for resuscitation.
"No--no," cried Kennedy, "Not here--take her up where the air isfresher."
With his revolver still drawn to overawe the prisoner, the policemanforced him to aid us in carrying her up the rickety flight of cellarsteps. Kennedy followed quickly, unscrewing the oxygen helmet as hewent.
In the deserted living room we deposited our senseless burden, whileKennedy, the helmet off now, bent over her.
"Quick--quick!" he cried to the officer, "An ambulance!"
"But the prisoner," the policeman indicated.
"Hurry--hurry--I'll take care of him," urged Craig, seizing thepoliceman's pistol and thrusting it into his pocket. "Walter--help me."
He was trying the ordinary methods of resuscitation. Meanwhile theofficer had hurried out, seeking the nearest telephone, while we workedmadly to bring Elaine back.
Again and again Kennedy bent and outstretched her arms, trying toinduce respiration. So busy was I that for the moment I forgot ourprisoner.
But Dan had seen his chance. Noiselessly he picked up the old chair inthe room and with it raised was approaching Kennedy to knock him out.
Before I knew it myself, Kennedy had heard him. With a half instinctivemotion, he drew the revolver from his pocket and, almost before I couldsee it, had shot the man. Without a word he returned the gun to hispocket and again bent over Elaine, without so much as a look at thecrook who sank to the floor, dropping the chair from his nervelesshands.
Already the policeman had got an ambulance which was now tearing alongto us.
Frantically Kennedy was working.
A moment he paused and looked at me--hopeless.
Just then, outside, we could hear the ambulance, and a doctor and twoattendants hurried up to the door. Without a word the doctor seemed toappreciate the gravity of the case.
He finished his examination and shook his head.
"There is no hope--no hope," he said slowly.
Kennedy merely stared at him. But the rest of us instinctively removedour hats.
Kennedy gazed at Elaine, overcome. Was this the end?
It was not many minutes later that Kennedy had Elaine in the littlesitting room off the laboratory, having taken her there in theambulance, with the doctor and two attendants.
Elaine's body had been placed on a couch, covered by a blanket, and theshades were drawn. The light fell on her pale face.
There was something incongruous about death and the vast collection ofscientific apparatus, a ghastly mocking of humanity. How futile was itall in the presence of the great destroyer?
Aunt Josephine had arrived, stunned, and a moment later, Perry Bennett.As I looked at the sorrowful party, Aunt Josephine rose slowly from herposition on her knees where she had been weeping silently besideElaine, and pressed her hands over her eyes, with every indication offaintness.
Before any of us could do anything, she had staggered into thelaboratory itself, Bennett and I following quickly. There I was busyfor some time getting restoratives.
Meanwhile Kennedy, beside the couch, with an air of desperatedetermination, turned away and opened a cabinet. From it he took alarge coil and attached it to a storage battery, dragging the peculiarapparatus near Elaine's couch.
To an electric light socket, Craig attached wires. The doctor watchedhim in silent wonder.
"Doctor," he asked slowly as he worked, "do you know of Professor Leducof the Nantes Ecole de Medicin?"
"Why--yes," answered the doctor, "but what of him?"
"Then you know of his method of electrical resuscitation."
"Yes--but--" He paused, looking apprehensively at Kennedy.
Craig paid no attention to his fears, but approaching the couch onwhich Elaine lay, applied the electrodes. "You see," he explained, withforced calmness, "I apply the anode here--the cathode there."
The ambulance surgeon looked on excitedly, as Craig turned on thecurrent, applying it to the back of the neck and to the spine.
For some minutes the machine worked.
Then the young doctor's eyes began to bulge.
"My heavens!" he cried under his breath. "Look!"
Elaine's chest had slowly risen and fallen. Kennedy, his attentionriveted on his work, applied himself with redoubled efforts. The youngdoctor looked on with increased wonder.
"Look! The color in her face! See her lips!" he cried.
At last her eyes slowly fluttered open--then closed.
Would the machine succeed? Or was it just the galvanic effect of thecurrent? The doctor noticed it and quickly placed his ear to her heart.His face was a study in astonishment. The minutes sped fast.
To us outside, who had no idea what was transpiring in the other room,the minutes were leaden-feeted. Aunt Josephine, weak but now herselfagain, was sitting nervously.
Just then the door opened.
I shall never forget the look on the young ambulance surgeon's face, ashe murmured under his breath, "Come here--the age of miracles is notpassed--look!"
Raising his finger to indicate that we were to make no noise, he led usinto the other room.
Kennedy was bending over the couch.
Elaine, her eyes open, now, was gazing up at him, and a wan smileflitted over her beautiful face.
Kennedy had taken her hand, and as he heard us enter, turned half wayto us, while we stared in blank wonder from Elaine to the weird andcomplicated electrical apparatus.
"It is the life-current," he said simply, patting the Leduc apparatuswith his other hand.
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