More whispers. Wally Stone tugged at Sam's sleeve. "What do you think you're doing?" he choked. "These boys will cut your throat quicker than Aguar will—"
"Maybe not," said Sam. "Look, I've got an idea—risky, but it might work if you'll play along. We can't lose much."
The whispers stopped and Kiz nodded to the Red Doctor. "All right, we bargain," he said. "After you show us."
"Now or never." Jenkins threw open the door and nodded to the guards. "I'll be in the sickroom in a very short while. If you're with me, I'll see you there. If not—" He fingered his throat suggestively.
As soon as they had gone Jenkins dived into the storeroom and began throwing flasks and bottles into a black bag. Wally Stone watched him in bewilderment. "You're going to kill him," he moaned. "Prayers, promises, pills and post-mortems. That's the Medical service for you."
Sam grinned. "Maybe you should operate on him. That would open their eyes all right."
"No thanks, not me. This is a medical case and it's all yours. What do you want me to do?"
"Stay here and try your damnedest to get through to HQ," said Sam grimly. "Tell them to send an armada, because we're liable to need one in the next few hours—"
If the Tenth Son of a Tenth Son had looked bad before, three hours had witnessed no improvement. The potentate's skin had turned from grey to a pasty green as he lay panting on the bed. He seemed to have lost strength enough even to groan, and his eyes were glazed.