"Everything was so happy with us," cried Anitra, "until Jose and I came to New York—and—now—" She broke down again.
"Please be calm," encouraged Kennedy. "Tell me everything—anything."
With an effort Anitra began again. "It was last night—quite late—at his office at the foot of Wall Street—he was there alone," she strove to connect her broken thoughts. "Some one—I think it must have been the janitor—called me up at home and said that my brother was very ill. Eulalie was there with me. We hurried down to him. When we got there Jose was on the floor by his desk, unconscious, struggling for breath, just as he is now."
"Did you observe anything peculiar?" queried Kennedy. "Was there anything that might give you a hint of what had happened?"
Anitra Barrios considered. "Nothing," she replied, slowly, "except that the windows were all closed. There was a peculiar odor in the room. I was so excited over Jose, though, that I couldn't tell you just what it was like."
"What did you do?" inquired Craig.
"What could we do, just two girls, all alone? It was late. The streets were deserted. You know how they are down-town at night. We took him home, to the hotel, in a cab, and called the hotel physician, Doctor Scott."
Both girls were again weeping silently in each other's arms. If there was anything that moved Kennedy to action it was distress of this sort. Without a word he rose from his desk, and I followed him. Anitra and Eulalie seemed to understand. Though they said nothing, they looked their gratitude as we four left the laboratory.
On the way down to the hotel Anitra continued to pour out her story in a fragmentary way. Her brother and she, it seemed, had inherited from their father a large sugar-plantation in Santa Clara, the middle province of Cuba.
Jose had not been like many of the planters. He had actually taken hold of the plantation, after the revolution had wrecked it, and had re-established it on modern, scientific lines. Now it was one of the largest independent plantations on the island.