Brande's state-room I found the electric light full on.
He was seated at a writing-table with his head resting on his arms,
which hung crossways over the desk. The sleeper breathed so deeply it
was evident that the effect of the morphia was still strong upon him.
One hand clutched a folded parchment. His fingers clasped it
nervelessly, and I had only to force them open one by one in order to
withdraw the manuscript. As I did this, he moaned and moved in his
chair. I had no fear of his awaking. My hand shook as I unfolded the
parchment which I unconsciously handled as carefully as though the thing
itself were as deadly as the destruction which might be wrought by its
direction.

To me the whole document was a mass of unintelligible formulae. My rusty
university education could make nothing of it. But I could not waste
time in trying to solve the puzzle, for I did not know what moment some
other visitor might arrive to see how Brande fared. I first examined
with a pocket microscope the ink of the manuscript, and then making a
scratch with Brande's pen on a page of my note-book, I compared the two.
The colours were identical. It was the same ink.

In several places where a narrow space had been left vacant, I put 1 in
front of the figures which followed. I had no reason for making this
particular alteration, save that the figure 1 is more easily forged than
any other, and the forgery is consequently more difficult to detect. My
additions, when the ink was dry, could only have been discovered by one
who was informed that the document had been tampered with. It was
probable that a drawer which stood open with the keys in the lock was
the place where Brande kept this paper; where he would look for it on
awaking. I locked it in the drawer and put the keys into his pocket.

There was something still to do with the sleeping man, whose brain
compassed such marvellous powers. His telepathic faculty must be
destroyed. I must keep him seriously ill, without killing him. As long
as he remained alive his friends would never question his calculations,
and the fiasco which was possible under any circumstances would then be
assured. I had with me an Eastern drug, which I had bought from an
Indian fakir once in Murzapoor. The man was an impostor, whose tricks
did not impose on me. But the drug, however he came by it, was reliable.
It was a poison which produced a mild form of cerebritis that dulled but
did not deaden the mental powers.