"Why—yes," answered Elaine, following Craig with her deep eyes. "Poor Rusty. He woke me up this morning. He feels as badly as I do, poor old fellow."
Craig reached down and gently pulled the collie out into the room. Rusty crouched down close to the floor. His nose was hot and dry and feverish. He was plainly ill.
"How long has Rusty been in the room?" asked Craig.
"All night," answered Elaine. "I wouldn't think of being without him now."
Kennedy lifted the dog by his front paws. Rusty submitted patiently, but without any spirit.
"May I take Rusty along with me?" he asked finally.
Elaine hesitated. "Surely," she said at length, "only, be gentle with him."
Craig looked at her as though it would be impossible to be otherwise with anything belonging to Elaine.
"Of course," he said simply. "I thought that I might be able to discover the trouble from studying him."
We stayed only a few minutes longer, for Kennedy seemed to realize the necessity of doing something immediately and even Dr. Hayward was fighting in the dark. As for me, I gave it up, too. I could find no answer to the mystery of what was the peculiar malady of Elaine.