cious life, the
ruin of her one hope of rescuing the man she loved from a horrible
death. It was all over now.... She felt the doctor's breath stir her
hair, she smelled again the hot odour of strong tobacco, was conscious
of the wave of animal heat emanating from his body as he bent over her.
Now ... her lovely chestnut-coloured blouse must be peppered with
holes. What a pity! ... not that it mattered now--how absurd to think
of that! ...

CHAPTER XXIX

What sound was that? The noise of ringing. Was it within her own
brain? No, surely not; it was the bell downstairs, a loud, persistent
peal. Not the telephone; no, it must be the front-door bell.

An annoyed exclamation came from the doctor.

"I'll have to answer that; it won't do to leave it."

A little click as the needle was laid down, then the retreating steps
of both men, out of the room. The door closed, the key turned
mechanically. She could hear the doctor's heavy steps lumbering all
the way down to the bottom floor, while she fancied Holliday remained
on the stairs. Was this a providential respite, or only another
tantalising false hope?

Cautiously she opened her eyes and moved her cramped limbs a little.
What difference could it make now if they knew she had been awake? On
the table at her side she saw the hypodermic syringe, fully charged,
lying beside a glass of water. She stared at them fascinated.

Suddenly an idea came to her, the wildest idea conceivable, not one
chance in a million of its succeeding, yet now, in the face of
extinction, anything was worth trying. She had nothing to lose. Quick
as lightning she seized the needle, squirted its contents on the floor
back of the bed, then with the same speed refilled it from the tumbler.
She laid it down again exactly where it had been before, looked to see
that there were no drops spilled. Then once more she lay down, trying
with meticulous care to resume her old posture. Was this right? No,
her head must have been a little lower. Oh, what hope was there of
deceiving those keen little python's eyes? The man would surely detect
the smallest variation in her attitude. No, it was a pathetic ruse,
foredoomed to failure. If he suspected she had moved he would examine
the needle, he would see the difference in colour. Her one hope lay in
the gloom of the alcove. A few minutes more and she would know the
worst.

She lay still and counted to keep from going mad. One, two, th