Scotty took the suitcases while Rick grabbed Marks' other arm. The scientist shook him off. "I'm perfectly all right," he said irritably. "Confound it! Rouse a man at the crack of dawn and expect him to respond like a ballet dancer to a cue. Nonsense!"
Marks' appearance belied his words. His face was drawn and pale, and it was obvious that his coordination wasn't very good. Tom Dodd was plainly worried.
"Let go of me," Marks demanded. He drew himself up and glared at the boys. "Which way is the car, please?"
"Straight ahead." Rick glanced at Dodd.
Marks stalked off, but his step was too careful to be convincing. He just wasn't normal.
"He wasn't like this when we got on the train," Dodd said in a low voice. "Let's get going. I'm anxious to get him to Spindrift."
In the parking lot, Rick ran to open the trunk so Scotty could stow the bags. Then he beckoned to Marks, who was staring straight ahead, his eyes glassy. "This is the car, sir."
Marks started for the open door. But instead of bending down to get in, he walked straight ahead, rigid as a robot, and his face slammed into the edge of the low turret top.
Dodd caught him as he fell.
Rick jumped to the scientist's side, afraid he had been knocked out, and afraid, too, that something even more serious was wrong.