“You bear malice, I fear, Mr. Orden.”
Julian made no reply. His eyes were fixed upon the door. He turned away with a shudder. Bright had entered. In his hand he was carrying two gas masks. He came over to the side of the couch, and, looking down at Julian, lifted his hand, and felt his pulse. Then, with an abrupt movement, he handed one of the masks to Fenn.
“Look out for yourself,” he advised. “I am going to give him an antidote.”
Bright stepped back and adjusted his own gas mask, while Fenn followed suit. Then the former drew from his pocket what seemed to be a small tube with perforated holes at the top. He leaned over Julian and pressed it. A little cloud of faint mist rushed through the holes; a queer, aromatic perfume, growing stronger every moment, seemed to creep into the farthest corners of the room. In less than ten seconds Julian opened his eyes. In half a minute he was sitting up. His eyes were bright once more, there was colour in his cheeks. Bright spoke to him warningly.
“Mr. Orden,” he enjoined, “sit where you are. Remember I have the other tube in my left hand.”
“You infernal scoundrel!” Julian exclaimed.
“Mr. Bright,” Fenn asserted, “is nothing of the sort. Neither am I. We are both honest men faced with a colossal situation. There is nothing personal in our treatment of you. We have no enmity towards you. You are simply a person who has committed a theft.”
“What puzzles me,” Julian muttered, “is what you expect I am going to do about you, if ever I do escape from your clutches.”
“If you do escape,” Fenn said quietly, “you will view the matter differently. You will find, as a matter of fact, that you are powerless to do anything. You will find a new law and a new order prevailing.”
“German law!” Julian sneered.