It was well within the hour when Chung's lieutenant glided in with a message that brought a suave smile to the face of his master. "Allee light," he announced, beaming upon Donaldson. "Gellelum dlownslairs." "You've found him!" "In callage," nodded Chung, with the genial air of a clergyman after completing a marriage ceremony. Donaldson reached the carriage before Chung had descended the first half-dozen steps. He opened the door and saw a limp, unkempt form sprawled upon the seat. He recognized it instantly as Arsdale. But the man was in no condition to be carried home. He must take him somewhere and watch over him until he was in a more presentable shape. But one place suggested itself,--his own apartments. Donaldson paused. He must take this bedraggled, disheveled remnant of a man to the rooms which stood for rich cleanliness. He must soil the nice spotlessness of the retreat for which he had paid so dearly. In view of the little he had so far enjoyed of his costly privileges, this last imposition seemed like a grim joke. "To the Waldorf," he ordered the driver with a smile. He himself climbed up on the box where he could find fresh air. At the hotel he bribed a bellboy to help him with the man to his room by way of the servant's entrance. Then he telephoned for the hotel physician, Dr. Seton. Before the doctor arrived Donaldson managed to strip the clothes from the senseless man and to roll him into bed. Then he sat down in a chair and stared at him. "It's an opium jag," he explained, as soon as Dr. Seton came in, "but that is n't the worst feature of it. I 'm tied here to him until he comes to. I can't tell you how valuable my time is to me. I want you to take the most heroic measures to get him out of it as soon as possible." "Very well, we 'll clear his system of the poison. But we can't be too violent. We must save his nerves." "Damn his nerves," Donaldson exclaimed. "He doesn't deserve nerves." The doctor glanced sharply from his patient to Donaldson himself. He noted the latter's pupils, his tense lips, his tightened fingers. He had jumped at the word poison, like a murderer at the word police. "See here," he demanded, "you have n't any of this stuff in you, have you?" "No," answered Donaldson, calmly. "Anything else the matter with you?" "Nothing but nervousness, I guess. I 've been under something of a strain recently." Donaldson turned away. He was afraid of the keen eyes of this man. Barstow had not experimented very long with the stuff; perhaps, after all, it did produce symptoms. But he reassured himself the next minute, remembering that the drug was unknown. Barstow had not revealed his discovery to any one. If he showed a dozen symptoms they would be unrecognizable.