"Miss Van Teyl," he announced, "has left for Tilbury. She is going out on the Lapland this morning. My God, she's got the formula!"
There was a moment's silence. Joseph was standing by with a wicked look on his face.
"I saw her slip away," he muttered, "and I watched her come down again.
There was just time."
Fischer turned suddenly to where Graham was lying. He drew a sheet of writing paper from the rack upon the table, and a pencil from his pocket. There was an evil and concentrated significance in his tone.
"That formula," he said, "can be written again. I think you had better write it."
"I'll see you damned first!" was the weak but prompt reply.
Fischer bent a little lower over the prostrate figure, "Look here," he went on, "we don't run risks like this for nothing. You're better dead than alive, so far as we are concerned, anyway. We'd planned to take the formula from you, and you can guess the rest. There are cellars underneath here into which no one ever goes who matters. Now here's a chance of life for you. Write down that formula—truthfully, mind—and we'll discuss the matter of taking your parole."
"See you damned first!" Graham repeated, his voice a little more tremulous but still convincing.
Fischer stood upright and turned to Jules.
"Get a bottle of brandy and a glass," he ordered.