Jack stopped, and turned his head to the doctor.
"Asleep?" he whispered.
"No;--drugged. That's why I wanted you to see him before I called
his wife. Is he accustomed to this sort of thing?" and he picked
up a bottle from the table.
Jack took the phial in his hand; it was quite small, and had a
glass stopper.
"What is it, doctor?"
"I don't know. Some preparation of chloral, I should think; smells
and looks like it. I'll take it home and find out. If he's been
taking this right along he may know how much he can stand, but if
he's experimenting with it, he'll wake up some fine morning in the
next world. What do you know about it?"
"Only what I have heard Mrs. Minott say," Jack whispered behind
his hand. "He can't sleep without it, she told me. He's been under
a terrible business strain lately and couldn't stand the pressure,
I expect."
"Well, that's a little better," returned the doctor, moving the
apparently lifeless arm aside and placing his ear close to the
patient's breast. For a moment he listened intently, then he drew
up a chair and sat down beside him, his fingers on Garry's pulse.
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