These thoughts crowded upon the reporter's brain as he lay simulating death and making a desperate effort to control his reeling senses.
If Murdock were coming he would have to shut off the gas and to ventilate the room. What was he waiting for?
"Come in!"
The words were Murdock's as he turned away from the grating and closed the sliding panel.
"An interruption which probably means death to us," whispered Sturgis to his companion; "take another breath of fresh air, old fellow; we must hold out a little longer."
Sprague, however, lay motionless and unresponsive. The reporter shook him violently and turned him over upon his back. The artist's body was limp and inert; his eyes half closed; his face livid.
The reporter himself felt sick and faint. But, with a mighty effort, he succeeded in raising his friend in his arms, and dragging him toward the speaking-tube. There, of a sudden, his strength failed him. His head swam; his muscles relaxed; he felt Sprague's limp form slip from his grasp, tottered, reeled, threw his arms wildly about him for support, and fell, as the last elusive ray of consciousness was slipping away from him.
CHAPTER XXII.
FATHER AND DAUGHTER.