my mind seemed to take on
fresh speed as it raced toward some solution to our terrible problem.
My eyes flew around the tiny office searching for some means of
escape. Doctor Semple turned to prepare the syringe. Behind his back
Brice gestured frantically. Somehow I understood. In my pocket was a
flask--a flask I had filled with drinking water in Constantinople.
Bewildered, I handed it over to him.

The doctor turned, swabbed a patch of iodine on our arms, reached for
the syringe. As he leaned over, Foulet thrust forward a foot. The
doctor tripped, sprawled full length on the floor. Foulet and I
quickly stooped to pick him up, standing between him and
Brice--shielding his eyes so that he could not see. We fumbled to give
Brice time. We apologized and soothed. Out of the tail of my eye I
could see Brice working like lightning--emptying out the syringe of
that villainous liquid, filling it with clear water.

* * * * *

It was done! We raised the doctor to his feet; gave his clothes a
final brush. But as we stood back I know my hands were trembling and I
had to clamp my teeth to keep them from chattering. Were we out of
danger yet? Would the doctor discover our ruse? And, if we got out of
his office without receiving the terrible injection, could we
successfully fool Fraser and his "slaves" into believing we were mad?
Fool them until we got a chance to escape? Could we simulate that
glassy stare? Were we sufficiently good actors to get away with it?
The questions pounded and raced through my brain in that instant when
Doctor Semple turned again to his desk and picked up the syringe.

But the miracle happened! Mechanically he gave us the injection--never
suspecting that it was not the devilish liquid he had put in, but only
clear water! Then he stepped back and watched us. Cold chills raced up
and down my spine. What were we supposed to do now? What was the
action of the serum? Did it act at once or slowly? Was it supposed to
make us sick? Did it send us to sleep? How could we simulate symptoms
when we had no idea what these symptoms were supposed to be? But the
cold voice of the doctor cut sharply across my agonized questions.

"You will lie down here," he said, opening a door into a room whose
trails were lined with bunks, like an opium den. "In half an hour I
will come for you. By that time--" His lips spread in that same
travesty of a smile Fraser had employed.

We filed into the r