“No. The nurse notified him at the Homicide Bureau, and he phoned me from there. He’ll probably be at the Greenes’ when we arrive.”
“You say she isn’t dead?”
“Drumm—he’s the official police surgeon Moran stationed in the Narcoss Flats—got there immediately, and had managed to keep her alive up to the time the nurse phoned.”
“Sproot’s signal worked all right, then?”
“Apparently. And I want to say, Vance, that I’m damned grateful to you for that suggestion to have a doctor on hand.”
When we arrived at the Greene mansion Heath, who had been watching for us, opened the door.
“She ain’t dead,” he greeted us in a stage whisper; and then drew us into the reception-room to explain his secretive manner. “Nobody in the house except Sproot and O’Brien knows about this poisoning yet. Sproot found her, and then pulled down all the front curtains in this room—which was the signal agreed on. When Doc Drumm hopped across Sproot was waiting with the door open, and took him up-stairs without anybody seeing him. The doc sent for O’Brien, and after they’d worked on the girl for a while he told her to notify the Bureau. They’re both up in the room now with the doors locked.”
“You did right in keeping the thing quiet,” Markham told him. “If Ada recovers we can hush it up and perhaps learn something from her.”
“That’s what I was thinking, sir. I told Sproot I’d wring his scrawny neck if he spilled anything to anybody.”
“And,” added Vance, “he bowed politely and said ‘Yes, sir.’ ”