There was a slight opening at one point, and Adams poured some of the chloroform down this. He feared lest the fumes of the anesthetic might overpower the professor also, but he knew they would soon pass away if this happened.
For several minutes he waited anxiously. Would the plan succeed? Would the plant be overcome before it had killed the professor inside?
Adams was in a fever of terror. Again and again he saturated the towel with the powerful drug. Then he had the satisfaction of seeing the lid of the pitcher plant relax.
It slowly lifted and fell over to one side, making a good-sized opening. The strong filaments, not unlike the arms of a devil fish, Adam thought, were no longer in uneasy motion. They had released their grip on the professor's legs and body.
The spines which had pointed downward, holding the plant's prey, now became limber.
Adams leaned over. He reached down, grasped the professor by the feet, and, being a strong man, while his friend was small and light, he pulled him from the tube of the flower, a little dazed from the fumes of the chloroform the plant had breathed in, but otherwise not much the worse for his adventure.
He had not reached the water at the bottom of the tube, which fact saved him from drowning.
"Well, you certainly had a narrow squeak," observed Adams as he helped the professor down the ladder.
"I did," admitted the botanist. "If you had not been on hand I don't know what would have happened. I suppose I would have been eaten alive."
"Unless you could have cut yourself out of the side of the flower with your knife," observed Adams.
"What! And killed the plant I raised with such pains?" ejaculated the professor. "Spoil the largest Sarracenia Nepenthis in the world? I guess not. I would rather have let it eat me."
"I think you ought to call it the cannibal plant instead of the pitcher plant," suggested Adams.
"Oh, no," responded the professor dreamily, examining the flower from a distance to see if any harm had come to it. "But to punish it, I will not give it any supper or breakfast. That's what it gets for being naughty," he added as if the plant were a child.
"And I suggest that when you feed it hereafter," said Adams, "you pass the beefsteaks in on a pitch-fork. You won't run so much danger then."
"That's a good idea. I'll do it," answered the professor heartily.
And he has followed that plan ever since.
THE BLACK SMUDGE.[1]
BY J. AUBREY TYSON.
A story of Russia in the present, setting forth the thrilling experiences of an American who became entangled in a grand ducal conspiracy.
CHAPTER XIII.
ON THE SIDE-TRACK.
WITHIN six hours after his escape from the Krazo and his finding of Lankirk, Kenck and Peringoff, Gridley learned more of the wonderful resources possessed by the men whose lives were consecrated to the struggle for Russian liberty.
The young engineer's determination to start in pursuit of Claire and Edith had excited the forebodings of the two Russian patriots. They soon convinced him of the futility of seeking the aid of the United States consul.
Then, just as they had almost made him despair, Peringoff suggested a plan which made the blood leap into the veins of both Gridley and Lankirk.
- ↑ This story began in the May issue of The Argosy. The three back numbers will be mailed to any address on receipt of 30 cents.
