"Think well, Mr.Dale!" The man's voice was low, menacing.
"Ethically, if you so choose to consider it, your refusal may be the act of a brave man; practically, it is the act of--a fool.Now--your answer!"
"I have answered you," said Jimmie Dale--and, relaxing the muscles in his arms, let them hang limply for an instant in the grip of the two men behind him."I have no other answer."It was only a sign, a motion of the leader's hand--but with it, quick as a lightning flash, Jimmie Dale was in action.The limp arms tautened into steel as he wrenched them loose, and, whirling around, he whipped his fist to the chin of one of the two guards.
In an instant, with the blow, as the man staggered backward, the room was in pandemonium.There was a rush from the door, and two, three, four leaping forms hurled themselves upon Jimmie Dale.He shook them off--and they came again.There was no chance ultimately, he knew that; it was only the elemental within him that rose in fierce revolt at the thought of tame submission, that bade him sell his life as dearly as he could.Panting, gasping for breath, dragging them by sheer strength as they clung to him, he got his back to the wall, fighting with the savage fury and abandon of a wild cat.
But it could not last.Where one man went down before him, two remorselessly appeared--the room seemed filled with men--they poured in through the door--he laughed at them in a half-demented way--more and more of them came--there was no play for his arms, no room to fight--they seemed so close around him, so many of them upon him, that he could not breathe--and he was bending, being crushed down as by an intolerable weight.And then his feet were jerked from beneath him, he crashed to the floor, and, in another moment, bound hand and foot, he was tied into a chair beside that other chair whose grim occupant sat in such ghastly apathy of the scene.
The room cleared instantly of all but the original five.His head was drawn suddenly, violently backward, and clamped in that position; and a metal instrument, forced into his mouth, while his lips bled in their resistance, pried jaws apart and held them open.
"One drop!" the leader ordered curtly.
The man with the full glass bent over him, and dipped a glass rod into the liquid.The drop glistened a ruby red on the end of the rod--and fell with a sharp, acrid, burning sensation upon Jimmie Dale's tongue.
For a moment Jimmie Dale's animation, mental and physical, seemed swept away from him in, as it were, a hiatus of hideous suspense.
What was it to be like this passing? Why did it not act at once, as it had acted on the rabbit they had showed him in the other room?
Yes, he remembered! It took more than one drop for a man; and besides, this was diluted.One drop had no effect on a man; it required-- Good God, ONE DROP EVEN OF THIS WAS ENOUGH? He strained forward in the chair until the sweat in great beads sprang from his forehead, strained and fought and tore at his bonds in a paroxy** of madness to free himself while there still remained a little strength.There was something filming before his eyes, a numbed feeling was creeping through his limbs, robbing them, sapping them of their vitality and power.He felt himself slipping away into a state of utter weakness, and his brain began to grow confused.
A voice seemed to float in the air near him: "For the last time--will you answer?"
With a supreme effort, Jimmie Dale strove to rally his tottering senses.Did they not understand the stupendous mockery of their questions? Did they not understand that he did not know? He had told them so--perhaps he had better tell them so again.
"I--" He tried to speak, and found the words thick upon his tongue.
"I--do not--know."
The glass itself was thrust abruptly between his lips.Some of the contents spilled and trickled upon his chin, and then a flood of it, burning, fiery, poured down his throat.A flood of it--and it needed but THREE drops and there had been TEN in the glass!
So this was death--a hazy, nebulous thing! There was no pain.It was like--like--nothingness.And out of the nothingness SHE came.
Strange that she should come! Alone she had fought these fiends and outwitted them for--how long was it? Three years! She would be more than ever alone now.Pray God she did not finally fall into their clutches!
How it burned now, that fatal draught they had forced down his throat, and how it gripped at him and seemed to eat and bore its way into the very tissues! It was the end, and--no! It was STIMULATINGhim! Strength seemed to be returning to his limbs; it seemed as though he were being carried, as though the bonds about him were being loosened; and now his brain seemed to be growing clearer.
He roused up with a startled exclamation.He was back in the same room in which he had first returned to consciousness after the accident.He was on the same couch.The same masked figure was at the same desk.Had he been dreaming? Was this then only some horrible, ghastly nightmare through which he had passed?
