“What has happened?” he asked, turning abruptly to Sophy. “Why is she like this? What does it mean?”
“I cannot tell.” A reply which could be taken in two ways.
“It must have been some sudden attack—her heart, I suppose. Marling, the nearest doctor, will be here instantly.” And as he spoke a square-shouldered, severe-looking man entered. Without a word, but in a most business-like manner, he made an examination of the patient, felt her pulse, turned back her eyelids, and then ejaculated an ominous:
“Ha!”
“What is it?” inquired Krauss; “what is the matter with my wife? Is it serious?”
“Don’t you know?” demanded the doctor, turning on him sharply, “it is cocaine poisoning—the last stage.”
“Cocaine!” echoed Krauss, and his large buff-coloured face turned to a leaden hue. “You are mistaken. That is not possible!”
“Well, if you don’t believe me, get another opinion,” retorted the doctor brusquely. “Judging from the slight examination I have made, your wife has been taking the drug for years.”
“Impossible!” almost shouted Krauss.
“Not at all,” rejoined the doctor. “Cocaine has been poisoning people in Rangoon by hundreds. Mrs. Krauss is not the only victim.”