“But I did not write a letter, and I did not take any poison,” I protested impatiently.
“Keep quiet,” old Feng urged. “It will all be explained in due course.”
“It is so utterly mysterious!” I cried, half raising myself.
“Yes, I agree,” said Feng. “The doctor has found that you are also suffering from the after-effects of some drug.”
“Does your head pain you very much now?” inquired the doctor.
“Not so much,” was my reply. “But my throat is very bad.”
“I expect so,” he said, and he crossed the room, returning with a draught which, on being swallowed, proved soothing. “Yes,” he went on, “you’ve had a very narrow escape. I caught you just in time. I presume that you must have swallowed the stuff about three o’clock on the morning before last. When I first saw you I gave you up as hopeless. But by sheer luck I was able to diagnose what you were suffering from. Funnily enough it was the drug you took first that saved you. But,” he added coaxingly, “go to sleep again, and when you wake up tell us all about it. Your mind will then be quite clear.”
“Yes,” said Thelma, whose beautiful face peered anxiously into my own. “Go to sleep now, Mr. Yelverton. You must not exert yourself too much.” And her soft cool hand smoothed my brow.
I remained silent and a few minutes later I had again fallen asleep.
It was night when I found myself listening to an astounding story. What Thelma told me was to the effect that, on the door of my room being forced, it was found that I had swallowed something from a bottle which was lying on the floor, while on the dressing-table lay a note addressed to the Coroner and signed, “Rex Yelverton.”