I just couldn't bear it! It isn't going to happen, though," he
added hastily, seeing the colour leave her lips. "By this time you'd have
begun to feel mighty bad, if you were in for trouble. You can't be easy to
affect, for if you were, the poison might have gone to your face, without
your even touching the leaves. Your hands don't burn, do they?"
"Only a little--from the ammonia."
"That saved them. If you feel all right in an hour more, you can have the
bandages off, and the danger'll be over for good. Then we can start,
unless the shock's been too much for you?"
"I'm too bewildered to be shocked," said Angela.
"Who could have played such a horrid practical joke on me? It's a little
bit like--in a ridiculous way--the play of _Adrienne Lecouvreur_, where a
woman is poisoned by a bouquet of flowers sent by a jealous rival. Only I
haven't a jealous rival!"
Nick's face hardened. "I'm going to find out who did send the stuff. While
you were in the other room I was looking at the wrapper of the box. I
can't make out the postmark; but I reckon there are those who can, and I
won't rest till I know."
"What can you do to find out?" asked Angela.
"I can put the best detective in San Francisco on to the job. He shall
follow up the clues like a bloodhound, and hang on to them when he's got
'em, like a bulldog.
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