ou were quite justified; the fellow no doubt set a trap
for us. But if he's to have a fair chance, we had better give him
something to eat. If he's as hungry as you are, he needs it."

He called Clarke to join them by the fire. Weariness had deepened the
lines on the doctor's face, and there were puffy pouches under his
eyes. He was obviously exhausted and scarcely able to move, but there
was something malignant in his look. He ate greedily, without
speaking, and then glanced up at the others.

"Well," Benson asked, "what's your opinion?"

"Your friend's state is dangerous. How he came to suffer from a severe
attack of malaria in this bracing climate, I can't determine; and,
after all, it's not an important point. He can't live much longer at
his present temperature."

"And the remedy?"

"One of two is indicated, and the choice is difficult, because both are
risky."

"Then they're risky to you as well as to your patient," Harding grimly
reminded him.

Clarke made a contemptuous gesture, which was not without a touch of
dignity. His manner now was severely professional.

"One course would be to put him into the coldest water we can find;
it's drastic treatment, and sometimes effective, but there's a strong
probability of its killing him."

"You had better mention the other."

"The administration of a remedy of my own, which I'll admit few doctors
would venture to use. It's almost as dangerous as the first course,
and in case of success recovery is slower."

Harding pondered this for a moment or two. He distrusted the man, and
believed he would feel no compunction about poisoning Blake, should he
consider it safe to do so, but he thought he had convinced him of the
contrary.

"I must leave you to decide; but I warn you that I'll hold you
responsible if the result's unfortunate."

"If you doubt my professional skill or good faith, why do you put your
partner in my charge?"

"I have some confidence in your sense of self-interest," Harding
answered. "You'll serve the latter best by curing Blake."

Clarke gave him a curious glance.

"I'll try the draught, and it had better be done now," he said. "There
is no time to lose."

He moved toward Blake, who lay with half-closed eyes, breathing with
apparent difficulty and making feeble restless movements. Stooping
beside him, he took out a very small bottle and carefully let a few
drops fall into a spoon. With some trouble, he got the sick man to