"Brandy!" It was just a whisper.
"Whatever you're going to do, for God's sake do it quickly!" cried Gerald to Gaynor. He spoke in a high, shrill voice. He was terribly excited and alarmed.
"Brandy!" came the faint whisper, almost inaudible.
Gerald sprang up, rushed from the room. As Gaynor was heating water in a teaspoon to prepare the strychnine, he rushed back again, a bottle of brandy and a liqueur glass in his hand.
"Here!" he cried. "At least try this while the other's being got ready."
Gaynor's hand shook so that he slopped the water he had already prepared, and had to begin all over.
"Oh, hurry, Gaynor—hurry!" cried Sophy, in despair. Cecil seemed to have fainted again.
"Let's try this—do let's try this," urged Gerald, kneeling down by her.
"I'm afraid," she murmured. She was white to the lips. "They say it's so bad for him."
Gaynor came forward with the hypodermic needle. Sophy held it, shivering with repulsion, while the valet unfastened his master's sleeve-links and pushed back his sleeve.