"An excellent idea," returned Savette.
"Are you prepared to perform the operation?" questioned Tremont. With a suave smile, Savette removed a hypodermic syringe from his pocket. Sharrock quailed as he saw the object.
Then the threat of the revolver held by Tremont became imminent. Sharrock stood trembling, fearing both the gun and the needle.
Doctor Savette approached the helpless man. He threw back Sharrock's arms, and wrested his coat from his body. He tore away the sleeve of the man's shirt. He raised the syringe and prepared to thrust its needle into the victim's flesh.
Pale, tottering, Sharrock began to edge away. A short word came from Tremont.
Sharrock saw the threat of the revolver.
He faced two deaths: that of the needle would be temporary; that of the gun would be permanent. He knew that he must accept one. He looked from Tremont to Savette. There was no mercy in either of those livid faces.
"Wait!" exclaimed Sharrock, in futile tone. "Let me talk. Maybe I can — can forget what I know—"
"You will forget it," declared Tremont coldly. "Certainly. We are arranging that at present. I give you warning, Sharrock. We do not intend to waste more time with you. You have your choice — the needle or a bullet.
"You have no friends here. If you flinch or refuse to take the hypodermic, I shall shoot you through your yellow heart. We are not afraid of anything you may have done. Do not hope that I shall spare you."