“I feel like a fighting cock,” he said promptly. “Why should I feel any other way?” Nick’s face had grown stern. “Because some five or six hours ago,” he answered gravely, “you were forcibly drugged, and a murderous attack was made upon you.” The blank look of amazement that came into Crawford’s eyes increased as memory returned to him. He sat up in bed and stared at the detective. “Good heavens, I remember now!” he broke out. “I—I thought at first, though, that it was only a nightmare.” He raised his brown, muscular hand and passed it across his brow. “Yes,” he muttered slowly, “I remember—I saw Jim Stone—I saw the wet sponge—his terrible face!” His voice died away into a frail whisper, whereupon Nick came up closer to the bed and laid a kindly hand on the man’s shoulder. “Stone drugged you,” he explained; “but that was not the worst he tried to do. The drug was only administered so that you might be kept quiet during what was to follow. Look!” With a quick movement he pulled back Crawford’s right sleeve, and then, extending his finger, indicated a small speck of hardened blood on the tanned forearm. “That mark covers a puncture made by the hypodermic syringe,” the calm voice went on, “and it was charged with the bacilli of some deadly disease when it was first handed to Stone to operate with.” The mine owner listened rigidly. “Again?” he whispered hoarsely. “Jim has tried again?” “Yes, and he came very near accomplishing it this time,” the detective answered. “Fortunately, however, I was in a position to take a hand. Had I not done so, I’m afraid it would have been all up with you. Neither you nor any one else would have known of what had happened, and by the time you had begun to feel the effects of the injection you would probably have been beyond hope or help.” He seated himself at the foot of the bed and quietly told the whole story. Before it was concluded, the lined, russet face of the miner had become sallow and beaded with perspiration. He leaned back on the pillow, his hands clasped behind his head. “This is frightful; far more so than anything I dreamed of,” he said, in an uncertain voice. “How can I reward you for what you’ve done?” The detective leaned forward and laid his hands on the covers over one of the raised knees. “The only reward I ask for,” he said, “is to see you rouse yourself to the true situation. If there was any doubt before, certainly none can be present now. Your old partner is insane, and has fallen into the hands of one of the most cunning, unscrupulous rascals at large to-day. He was dangerous enough before when he only had the shrewdness of his own misguided instincts to aid him, but now you’re up against something much worse. You have to deal not only with a homicidal lunatic, but through him with a scientific criminal of the most dangerous sort. The combination is an extraordinary one, and has possibilities for evil that stagger the imagination.”