Myra said nothing. She simply sat, with staring eyes, and clutched the arms of her chair as though to keep from slipping into some dreadful abyss. Once a low moan escaped from her lips.
"My wife is naturally overwrought by this painful business," Stephen said. "I trust that you gentlemen will excuse her.... Hadn't you better go and lie down somewhere, Myra?"
She shook her head violently, moaning again. Both the doctor and the attorney were looking at her curiously.
"Well, I object to being drugged," Colonel Hampton said, rising. "And what's more, I won't submit to it."
"Albert!" Doctor Vehrner said sharply, nodding toward the Colonel. The pithecanthropoid attendant in the white jacket hastened forward, pinned his arms behind him and dragged him down into the chair. For an instant, the old man tried to resist, then, realizing the futility and undignity of struggling, subsided. The psychiatrist had taken a leather case from his pocket and was selecting a hypodermic needle.
Then Myra Hampton leaped to her feet, her face working hideously.
"No! Stop! Stop!" she cried.
Everybody looked at her in surprise, Colonel Hampton no less than the others. Stephen Hampton called out her name sharply.
"No! You shan't do this to me! You shan't! You're torturing me! you are all devils!" she screamed. "Devils! Devils!"
"Myra!" her husband barked, stepping forward.