“Yes, that’s what he said,” responded the father.
“Well,” said the doctor, speaking in a brisk, lively way peculiar to him, “I’ve found what the matter was.”
“No?” said the mother, becoming interested at once.
“It was the milk,” the doctor continued. “I thought there was something wrong with it, the moment I smelt it, but I took some home to make sure.” He pulled a paper out of his pocket. “That’s the test, and Dr. Plumb, who has two cases next door, found it was just the same there.”
The Blacketts gazed at the written analysis, with wonder, not understanding a word of it. Peter looked too, when they had satisfied their curiosity. As he read it, a curious expression came into his face. A look not unlike that which his face had worn on the deck of the “Sunrise.” It could hardly be called a change of expression, but rather a strengthening and deepening of his ordinary look.
“That was in the milk drunk by the children?” he asked, placing his finger on a particular line.
“Yes,” replied the doctor. “The milk was bad to start with, and was drugged to conceal the fact. These carbonates sometimes work very unevenly, and I presume this particular can of milk got more than its share of the doctoring.
“There are almost no glycerides,” remarked Peter, wishing to hold the doctor till he should have had time to think.
“No,” said the doctor. “It was skim milk.”
“You will report it to the Health Board?” asked Peter.