“I don’t see how poor Sandy could have gotten it,” she said. “He hasn’t been near any other animal, and I understand he would have to be scratched or bitten by one to become infected.”
“The examination will show whether or not he had hydrophobia, and I hope he hadn’t,” I replied, “for a very personal reason. Just how he contracted it, of course, may never be known.”
“For your sake, I too hope that he didn’t have it. You are in grave danger, are you not, from that bite?”
“Not so bad as all that. A comparatively short time ago it was the equivalent of a death warrant to be bitten by a rabid animal. Modern science, however, has made death from hydrophobia a rarity when treatment is administered in time.”
The remainder of the day was spent quite pleasantly, strolling about the grounds and on the white, foam-edged beach, or lolling on the large, conformable porch.
We had dinner at six, and I was enjoying a cigar in the swing shortly thereafter, when I heard the throb of a motor in the driveway and the big car of Dr. Dorp came into view.
He drove up to the curb, and I saw that he had four men with him. Each was carrying a large package covered with khaki. The packages were placed on the porch, and the doctor presented his four companions, as Mr. Easton, civil engineer, Mr. Brandon, electrical engineer, and Messrs. Hogan and Rafferty, detectives. At a sign from the doctor, the two detectives immediately strolled out into the shrubbery.
“We’re going to make a few preparations for the show this evening,” he said, addressing me. “Want to come along?”
“Of course.”
“All right. Each man grab a bundle. We haven’t much time before dark.”