“Send at once for Herr Krauss—he is in his office,” and Sophy ran towards her aunt’s room and found, as Lily had described, that her relative was passing away; indeed, save for her faint breathing, one would have supposed that she had already crossed the border. Herr Krauss cast one hurried glance, thundered out of the room, and rang up the telephone; then he returned and stood gazing at his wife, his face working with emotion. “What has happened?” he asked, turning abruptly to Sophy. “_Why_ is she like this? What does it mean?” “I cannot tell.” A reply which could be taken in two ways. “It must have been some sudden attack—her heart, I suppose. Marling, the nearest doctor, will be here instantly.” And as he spoke a square-shouldered, severe-looking man entered. Without a word, but in a most business-like manner, he made an examination of the patient, felt her pulse, turned back her eyelids, and then ejaculated an ominous: “Ha!” “What is it?” inquired Krauss; “what is the matter with my wife? Is it serious?” “Don’t you know?” demanded the doctor, turning on him sharply, “it is cocaine poisoning—the last stage.” “Cocaine!” echoed Krauss, and his large buff-coloured face turned to a leaden hue. “You are mistaken. That is not _possible_!” “Well, if you don’t believe me, get another opinion,” retorted the doctor brusquely. “Judging from the slight examination I have made, your wife has been taking the drug for _years_.” “Impossible!” almost shouted Krauss. “Not at all,” rejoined the doctor. “Cocaine has been poisoning people in Rangoon by hundreds. Mrs. Krauss is not the only victim.” Krauss, great heavy man that he was, was now trembling so violently that he was obliged to lean against the wall for support, and, pointing to the bed, he said: “I had not the slightest suspicion—Gott bewahre, I had not. I thought her ailment was neuralgia. I will pay any money, no matter what fee. Surely, you can do something for her?” “I am afraid not; Mrs. Krauss is beyond help, and can never recover consciousness. She has been taking quantities of the drug for a long time. Look at her arm!”—turning back the sleeve and revealing an emaciated tell-tale limb. “Did _you_ know?” said Krauss, appealing to Sophy, who stood at the other side of the bed. The words came in short savage jerks. “Yes,” she replied, “I only discovered it six weeks ago.” “And never told _me_!” glaring at her with a furious expression. “No—because Aunt Flora implored me to be silent. I was doing my best to stop it and minimising the doses.” “Ah!” exclaimed the doctor, “that accounts for this. She has been starved and, with the cunning of these morphia maniacs, found means to get a supply, and has absorbed an enormous quantity.” “Ach Gott! it seems incredible,” moaned Krauss, now rising and coming towards the bed, and lifting his wife’s limp hand. “What could have made her take to it?”