From the way he acts, there 's some sort of morphinic poisoning.

We can't tell what it is--except that it acts like a narcotic.

And about the only way we can pull him out is with these applications." The interne turned over the batteries and went on about his work, while Fairchild, hoping within his heart that he had not placed an impediment in the way of Harry's recovery by not telling what he knew of Crazy Laura and her concoctions, began his task.

Yet he was relieved by the knowledge that such information could aid but little.

Nothing but a chemical analysis could show the contents of the strange brews which the insane woman made from her graveyard herbiage, and long before that could come, Harry might be dead.