she had taken Heath's words as a criticism of her actions.
"It's not your fault, Ada," Vance assured her. "The Sergeant is unduly depressed.—But tell me this: when you went into the hall did you see Miss Sibella's dog anywhere around?"
She shook her head wonderingly.
"Why, no. What has Sibella's dog to do with it?"
"He probably saved your life." And Vance explained to her how Sproot had happened to find her.
She gave a half-breathless murmur of amazement and incredulity, and fell into abstracted revery.
"When you returned from your sister's room, did you drink your bouillon at once?" Vance asked her next.
With difficulty she brought her mind back to the question.
"Yes."
"And didn't you notice a peculiar taste?"
"Not particularly. Mother always likes a lot of salt in her bouillon."
"And then what happened?"
"Nothing happened. Only, I began to feel funny. The back of my neck tightened up, and I got very warm and drowsy. My skin tingled all over, and my arms and legs seemed to get numb. I was terribly sleepy, and I lay back on the bed.—That's all I remember."
"Another washout," grumbled Heath.
There was a short silence, and Vance drew his chair nearer.
