"You are the gentlemen who gave Dr. Macklin the unauthorized injection," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"I don't like that 'unauthorized'," Ferris snapped.
The colonel—Mitchell spotted the eagles on his green tunic—lifted a heavy eyebrow. "No? Are you medical doctors? Are you authorized to treat illnesses?"
"We weren't treating an illness," Mitchell said. "We were discovering a method of treatment. What concern is it of yours?"
The colonel smiled thinly. "Dr. Macklin is my concern. And everything that happens to him. The Army doesn't like what you have done to him."
Mitchell wondered desperately just what they had done to the man.
"Can we see him?" Mitchell asked.
"Why not? You can't do much worse than murder him now. That might be just as well. We have laws to cover that."
The colonel led them into the comfortable, over-feminine living room. Macklin sat in an easy chair draped in embroidery, smoking. Mitchell suddenly realized Macklin used a pipe as a form of masculine protest to his home surroundings.