The telephone was on a little round table by the windows, almost within touching-distance of Hubert. With an unsteady finger Courtney dialed the number and got it right. The ringing-tone buzzed interminably in his head while he perched on the edge of a little chair, staring at the phone. It had rung for a full minute, which to Courtney seemed interminable, before Dr. Nithsdale's voice answered.
When he had explained, Dr. Nithsdale's language was sulphurous.
"And also," Courtney added, "come prepared to deal with somebody who's got a bash over the back of the head, probably—"
"Lad, are you clean daft?"
"No, no, no! There's a lunatic in the house tonight. Just do what I ask. But, Doctor!" "Aye?"
"If the strychnine was administered with a hypodermic, what can I do about it in the meantime?"
"Naething. And it isna likely I can either. Guid-by."
The receiver went up with a bang.
Courtney pressed his hands to a throbbing head. 'Beside him the rain was spattering in from the open window, so that bright needles stung the floor and drenched the curtains. No other sound disturbed the house.
He swung round to face Hubert, and got what was perhaps his worst shock of the night — at least, so far. Hubert, still in the same position, had not stirred. But his eyes were wide open, and they were looking straight into Courtney's from not six feet away.