“Of course you have—that's the insidiousness of the devil's stuff. How soon does it get into action?”
“Oh, right away—almost instantly.”
“What! Is your imagination strong enough to—See here, Ches”—Burns leaned forward “you're taking the stuff by mouth, of course?”
Chester's eyes went down. “Why—I tried it that way—but it was so slow.”
Burns ejaculated something under his breath; the quick colour, always ready to flare under his clear skin, leaped out.
“Gardner gave you a hypo, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“So you went and bought a syringe and taught yourself the trick. Suppose you give me a look at it.”
Like a shamed schoolboy Chester unwillingly drew forth the small case from his pocket. Burns received it. He opened it and took out the tiny instrument. “It looks like a very good one,” he observed with a sort of deadly quietness, and with one motion of his big fingers snapped the glass barrel in two.
At this Chester took fire. “That's going a little too far!” he burst out in wrath.