For the moment I did not comprehend. “Mold?” I repeated.
“Yes,” he replied, “just common, ordinary mold such as grows on the top of a jar of fruit or preserves when it is exposed to the air.”
I stifled an exclamation of incredulity. It seemed impossible that the deadly germ note should be harmless, in view of the events that had followed its receipt.
Just then the laboratory door was flung open and Reginald Blake, pale and excited, entered. He had every mark of having been up all night.
“What’s the matter?” asked Craig.
“It’s about my mother,” he blurted out. “She seems to be getting worse all the time. Miss Sears is alarmed, and Betty is almost ill herself with worry. Dr. Wilson doesn’t seem to know what it is that affects her, and neither does the new nurse. Can’t you do something?”
There was a tone of appeal in his voice that was not like the self-sufficient Reginald of the day before.
“Does there seem to be any immediate danger?” asked Kennedy.
“Perhaps not—I can’t say,” he urged. “But she is gradually getting worse instead of better.”
Kennedy thought a moment. “Has anything else happened?” he asked slowly.