"When I got upstairs, Elaine opened her door. She already was undressed—had on the negligee she's wearing now. She said she wasn't sleepy, and that she'd decided to come back down for another look at the presents. So I came along...."
Carefully, yet concisely, Mark outlined the events which had preceded the girl's collapse. When he had finished, Professor Duchard looked even more worried than before.
"I do not like what you tell me," he informed the younger man. "I believe this is a case for a doctor. A good one. I have a friend who is a neurologist. I shall call him."
He disappeared toward the telephone.
Not once in the half-hour preceding the specialist's arrival did the girl stir. She lay upon the big double bed like a lovely corpse, unmoving save for the slight rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed.
The neurologist examined her with keen interest.
"A remarkable case!" he declared. "Her pulse and respiration have slowed to the point where they are scarcely apparent."
Professor Duchard nodded slowly.
"But what does it mean?" exploded Mark, beside him, his handsome young face pale and haggard. "Why can't you revive her?"
The doctor frowned, pinched his chin thoughtfully.