Bright was playing with another tube which he had withdrawn from his pocket.
“It is my duty to warn you, Mr. Orden,” he said, “that the contents of this little tube of gas, which will reach you with a touch of my fingers, may possibly be fatal and will certainly incapacitate you for life.”
“Why warn me?” Julian scoffed. “You know very well that I haven’t the strength of a cat, or I should wring your neck.”
“We feel ourselves,” Bright continued unctuously, “justified in using this tube, because its first results will be to throw you into a delirium, in the course of which we trust that you will divulge the hiding place of the stolen packet. We use this means in the interests of the country, and such risk as there may be lies on your own head.”
“You’re a canting hypocrite!” Julian declared. “Try your delirium. That packet happens to be in the one place where neither you nor one of your tribe could get at it.”
“It is a serious moment, this, Mr. Orden,” Fenn reminded him. “You are in the prime of life, and there is a scandal connected with your present position which your permanent disappearance would certainly not dissipate. Remember--”
He stopped short. A whistle in the corner of the room was blowing. Bright moved towards it, but at that moment there was the sound of flying footsteps on the wooden stairs outside, and the door was flung open. Catherine, breathless with haste, paused for a moment on the threshold, then came forward with a little cry.
He gazed at her, speechless, but with a sudden light in his eyes. She came across the room and dropped on her knees by his couch. The two men fell back. Fenn slipped back between her and the door. They both removed their masks, but they held them ready.
“Oh, how dared they!” she went on. “The beasts! Tell me, are you ill?”
“Weak as a kitten,” he faltered. “They’ve poisoned me with their beastly gases.”
Catherine rose to her feet. She faced the two men, her eyes flashing with anger.
“The Council will require an explanation of this, Mr. Fenn!” she declared passionately. “Barely an hour ago you told us that Mr. Orden had escaped from Hampstead.”
“Julian Orden,” Fenn replied, “has been handed over to our secret service by the unanimous vote of the Council. We have absolute liberty to deal with him as we think fit.”