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.