or you, I have no objection to her marrying you. And
as for the money you stole, I have said nothing about that--intend to
say nothing. If you'd had the sense to explain things to me--if I could
count on you to leave me alone and not try again to murder me--"

"Oh, go to hell!"

The interruption was little short of a shriek. Ember motioned to Sum
Fat, who quietly drew nearer.

"I swear I don't know what to do or say--"

"Then shut up--"

"That'll be about all," Ember interposed quietly. At a glance from him,
Sum Fat closed in swiftly and caught and pinioned Drummond's arms from
behind.

A disgusting change took place in Drummond. In an instant he was
struggling, screaming, slavering: his face congested, eyes starting,
features working wildly as he turned and twisted in his efforts to free
himself.

Sum Fat held him as he would have held an unruly child. Whitaker looked
away, feeling faint and sick. Ember looked on with shrewd and
penetrating interest, biding the time when a break in Drummond's ravings
would let him be heard. When it came at length, together with a gradual
weakening of the man's struggles, the detective turned to Whitaker.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't dare take any further chances. He'd've been
at your throat in another minute. I could see him working himself up to
a frenzy. If Sum Fat hadn't grabbed him in time, there's no telling what
might not have happened."

Whitaker nodded.

"It isn't as if we had simply an everyday crook to deal with," Ember
went on, approaching the man. "He's not to be trusted or reasoned with.
He's just short of a raving morphomaniac, or I miss my guess."

With a quick movement he caught Drummond's left arm, pulled the sleeve
of his coat back to the elbow, unbuttoned and turned back his cuff.
"_Hmm_--yes," he continued bending over to inspect the exposed forearm,
in spite of Drummond's efforts to twist away. "Deadly work of the busy
little needle. Good Lord, he's fairly riddled with punctures!"

"That explains...." Whitaker muttered, sickened.

"It explains a lot." Ember readjusted the sleeve and turned away. "And
it shows us our path of duty, clear," he continued, despite
interruptions from the maddened drug fiend. "I think a nice little
sojourn in a sanatorium--what?"

"Right," Whitaker agreed, relieved.

"We'll see what a cure does for him before we indulge in criminal
proceedings--shall we?"

"By all means."

"Good." Ember glanced at his watch. "I'll h