any kind of right to the feeling.
These people had really got the best of him, for they had spirited away
that mysterious parcel, and what was more to the point, he had betrayed
the fact that he had a pretty good idea of what that parcel was. Why,
then, was there this sudden change of front on the part of Carl
Sartoris? The thought was uppermost in Berrington's mind as he laid a
hand on the door.

Then he reeled back as if struck by some stupendous unseen force. A
great pain gripped him from head to foot, his brain seemed to be on
fire. In vain he strove to release his hand on the door knob; it seemed
welded to the metal. From head to foot the shooting agony went on. With
his teeth ripping his lower lip till the blood came, Berrington tried to
fight down the yell of pain that filled his throat, but the effort was
beyond human power. A long piteous wail of agony and entreaty came from
him. It was only when the third or fourth cry was torn from him and he
felt the oppression of a hideous death, that the thing suddenly ceased
and Sartoris's gentle, mocking laughter took the place of the agony.

"You are not feeling very well," Sartoris called out. "If you are not
altogether in a state of physical collapse, will you kindly walk this
way. A little brandy will about fit the case."

Berrington was past protest and past flight, for the moment. He seemed
to be sick to the soul. There came back to him the vivid recollection of
the time when he had lain out in the jungle all night, with a bullet
through his lungs, waiting wearily for death in the morning. He flung
himself exhaustedly into a chair and gasped for breath. Sartoris watched
him as some cold-blooded scientist might have watched the flaying of a
live animal.

"Your heart is not nearly so bad as you think," he said. "When the
pressure goes from your lungs you will be much better. That is a little
dodge of mine which is built upon a pretty full knowledge of
electricity. Up to now I have not had an opportunity of giving it a
good trial. Are you feeling any better?"

Berrington nodded. The colour was coming back to his cheeks now, the
painful feeling at his chest was abating. The brandy was going to the
right place.

"You malignant little fiend," he gasped. "I should be doing the world a
service if I took you by the throat and squeezed the life out of you."

"Well, the remedy is in your hands, though I doubt whether or not a
judge and jury would take the same sangui