V
THREE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING
As he spoke, youth with its brilliant hopes, illusions and beliefs passed from me, never to return in the same measure again. I stared at the glimmering amethyst, I stared at the empty vial and, as a full realization of all his words implied seized my benumbed faculties, I felt the icy chill of some grisly horror moving among the roots of my hair, lifting it on my forehead and filling my whole being with shrinking and dismay.
Sinclair, with a quick movement, replaced the tiny flask in its old receptacle, and then thrusting the whole out of sight, seized my hand and wrung it.
"I am your friend," he whispered. "Remember, under all circumstances and in every exigency, your friend."
"What are you going to do with those?" I demanded when I regained control of my speech.
"I do not know."
"What are you going to do with—with Dorothy?"
He drooped his head; I could see his fingers working in the moonlight.