And then, as Parks sped down the hall again, I saw Godfrey loosen the collar of the unconscious man and begin to chafe his temples fiercely.
"I hope it isn't apoplexy," he muttered. "I oughtn't to have shocked him like that."
At the words, I remembered; and, stooping, picked up the photograph which had fluttered from Rogers's nerveless fingers. And then I, too, uttered a smothered exclamation as I gazed at the dark eyes, the full lips, the oval face—the face which d'Aurelle had carried in his watch!
CHAPTER VIII
PRECAUTIONS
But it wasn't apoplexy. It was Parks who reassured us, when he came hurrying back a minute later with a glass of water in one hand and a small phial in the other.
"He has these spells," he said. "It's a kind of vertigo. Give him a whiff of this."
He uncorked the phial and handed it to Godfrey, and I caught the penetrating fumes of ammonia. A moment later, Rogers gasped convulsively.
"He'll be all right pretty soon," remarked Parks, with ready optimism. "Though I never saw him quite so bad."
"We can't leave him lying here on the floor," said Godfrey.