Was Dr. Ross desperately shifting suspicion from himself? I asked.
“Very strange—very,” ruminated Kennedy. “That reminds me again. I wonder if you could let me have a sample of this cobra venom?”
“Surely. Excuse me; I’ll get you some.”
The doctor had scarcely shut the door when Kennedy began prowling around quietly. In the waiting-room, which was now deserted, stood a typewriter.
Quickly Craig ran over the keys of the machine until he had a sample of every character. Then he reached into drawer of the desk and hastily stuffed several blank sheets of paper into his pocket.
“Of course I need hardly caution you in handling this,” remarked Dr. Ross, as he returned. “You are as well acquainted as I am with the danger attending its careless and unscientific uses.”
“I am, and I thank you very much,” said Kennedy.
We were standing in the waiting-room.
“You will keep me advised of any progress you make in the case?” the doctor asked. “It complicates, as you can well imagine, my treatment of Mrs. Maitland.”
“I shall be glad to do so,” replied Kennedy, as we departed.