"That was the difficulty. When we first got to you, Ted, we didn't know what it was, or what antidote to use. Your heart had slowed down to almost nothing—"
"There is a poison chart with a list of the symptoms and antidotes in my desk."
"Yes, Ted. I found that, and we got Dr. Sinclair quickly."
"You found it?"
"It was about five in the morning when one of the foremen happened to go into your laboratory. It made him ill, for the place was reeking—you and Prospero were lying on the floor. He threw open the windows and telephoned Mr. Knowlton. He dressed and called up father, and I went too, in spite of my knee."
"But why did Knowlton call up your father?"
"To let me know, Ted. Wasn't that dear of him? And I was really able to help. They wanted to take you to a hospital, but dad wouldn't listen to that—and so here you are."
I kissed her hand and tried to put in order the story as she had told it.
"I wonder why it didn't kill me, if it killed Prospero?"
I felt her clutch my hand.