I passed in and closed the door behind me. Hilda looked at me with trustful eyes. Resolute still, her face was yet that of a hunted creature. “Thank Heaven, I have ONE friend here, at least!” she said, slowly seating herself. “You saw me catch and conceal the needle?”
“Yes, I saw you.”
She drew it forth from her purse, carefully but loosely wrapped up in a small tag of tissue-paper. “Here it is!” she said, displaying it. “Now, I want you to test it.”
“In a culture?” I asked; for I guessed her meaning.
She nodded. “Yes, to see what that man has done to it.”
“What do you suspect?”
She shrugged her graceful shoulders half imperceptibly.
“How should I know? Anything!”
I gazed at the needle closely. “What made you distrust it?” I inquired at last, still eyeing it.
She opened a drawer, and took out several others. “See here,” she said, handing me one; “THESE are the needles I keep in antiseptic wool—the needles with which I always supply the Professor. You observe their shape—the common surgical patterns. Now, look at THIS needle, with which the Professor was just going to prick my finger! You can see for yourself at once it is of bluer steel and of a different manufacture.”