claimed the Mephistopheles of the party; "that's right. Give
him one if he moves."

This to his bearded companion, who had drawn a life-preserver similar to
that his companion had used, as he bent over the sleeping man.

"He has had a dose," was whispered back. "You can smell his breath."

"Brandy. All right!" cried the youngest of the three, catching up the
decanter, smelling it, tasting it with a loud smack of the lips, and
pouring out a goodly portion in the empty glass, he handed it to his
first companion. "Here, Harry."

"Sure it's all right?" was whispered back.

"Swear it. Now, Rogers."

"Here's mine," said the man, with a grin. "Hot with. Quick, lads!"

"Don't touch that," was on the younger man's lips; but his companion
raised the glass with a laugh, and as he followed his example by putting
the decanter to his mouth, the doctor's assailant literally poured the
contents of the tumbler down his throat, and then stood still, put the
glass back on the table, gasping and staring straight before him.

His companions were not heeding him, for each drank eagerly of the
brandy, and were setting down the decanter and glass, when the younger
man spoke:

"Why, Rogers, old chap!"

The man addressed turned his wild staring eyes at him for a moment, as
if to answer, and then walked blindly between the sofa and the table, as
if to go straight to the wall, reeled and fell, catching at the cloth,
which he dragged aside, nearly causing the lamp to go crashing on the
floor.

For a few moments the others stood aghast, staring at their prostrate
companion, who writhed slightly for a brief period, uttering a curious
sound, and then lay upon his back, stretched out motionless.

The younger man was the first to recover himself.

"Help!" he gasped, in a hoarse whisper.

"Hush!" cried his companion; "are you mad?"

He raised his life-preserver threateningly, and the other gazed at him
with ghastly face and staring eyes.

"What shall we do?" he whispered.

"Keep your head, and don't be a fool," was the reply.

As the bearded man spoke he went down on one knee, thrust his hand into
his comrade's breast, and then rose quickly.

"What is it, Harry--poison?"

"Yes, grim death, lad."

"Then, we've got it, too."

"No--all right. The fool! Smell that glass."

He took up and held the tumbler to his nose, and then passed it to his
companion, who smelt it, and put it down with a shudder.

"Come on," he pante