"Colour blind, Smithers, and a soldier? I'm surprised at you. I suspect they're only dirty. Do you feel a tingling at the finger tips?"
"Yes, and at my toe-tips too."
"Excellent! And your temperature?"
"One hundred and three. Man, I'm in a fever. I can't breathe. My head's on fire."
"You've only been in there an hour and a quarter. You're just beginning to get acclimatised, Smithers," said Professor Blyth callously, as he hung up the receiver.
"I wish Cantrip were here," he soliloquised. "'Deoxygenation of the blood corpuscles, followed by coma.' Bah! Radium acts on the nerve centres, and will ultimately produce paralysis. Cantrip is an ass. I always told him so."
The bell rang. "Blyth," said the prisoner, "listen to me. If you don't let me out, I'll swallow the radium. It can't make me feel worse, and it may finish me off quicker."
"Nonsense, Smithers, don't talk like a fool. It would only add to any—er—inconvenience you are now experiencing."
"I don't care what it would do. I——"