Instantly there flashed over her the recollection of an instrument she had read about at one of the city hospitals, It might save Adele.

Before any one knew what she was doing she had darted to the telephone in the lower hall of the apartment and had called up the hospital frantically, imploring them to hurry.

Adele must be saved.
Constance had no very clear idea of what happened next in the hurly-burly of events, until the ambulance pulled up at the door and the white-coated surgeon burst in carrying a heavy suitcase.
With one look at the unfortunate girl he muttered, "Paralysis of the respiratory organs--too large a dose of the drug.

You did perfectly right," and began unpacking the case.
Constance, calm now in the crisis, stood by him and helped as deftly as could any nurse.
It was a curious arrangement of tubes and valves, with a large rubber bag, and a little pump that the doctor had brought.

Quickly he placed a cap, attached to it, over the nose and mouth of the poor girl, and started the machine.
"Wh-what is it ?" gasped Drummond as he saw Adele's hitherto motionless breast now rise and fall.
"A pulmotor," replied the doctor, working quickly and carefully, "an artificial lung.