Miss Waters was shoveling personal belongings from her desk into a giant handbag, when they reached the reception room. Dr. Needzak felt her eyes upon him, as the other two physicians kept him moving by the sheer impetus of their bodies into his consultation room.
"Where is it, Walt?" Dr. Manville asked, looking gloomily around the consultation room.
"Where's what, Pop? The drinks? I keep them—"
"The door to your operating room," Dr. Carson interrupted, hurriedly. "Let's not drag this thing out. It's going to be painful enough, among old friends. Your private office has been wired for sight and sound for the past three weeks. You shouldn't have tried to get away with that kind of practice in a big city."
Dr. Needzak felt the blood draining from his face. He reached for a drawer. Dr. Manville grabbed his arm with a tight, claw-like grasp, before it could touch the handle.
"It's all right, Pop," he said. "Nothing but gin in there. I'm not the violent type."
Dr. Carson pulled open the drawer toward which he had reached. He pulled out the tall bottle, slipped off the patent top, and sniffled. Handing it to Dr. Needzak, he said:
"Okay. You need some. Then save the rest for us. We'll feel like it, too, when we're done."
Dr. Needzak coughed after three large swallows. He looked at the other two doctors. "Who ratted?"
Dr. Carson nodded toward the reception room. Dr. Needzak instinctively clenched his fists. He half-rose from his chair, then sank back slowly. "I thought you guys were my friends," he said.