I marched across to him and gripped both his wrists.
“Look at me,” I said, “straight in the eyes.”
His eyes were like a sleep-walker’s, unwinking, unseeing. “Great heavens, man, you’ve been drugged!” I said.
“Drugged,” he cried, with a weary laugh. “Yes, I have been drugged, but not by any physic. No one has been doctoring my food. But you can’t go through hell without getting your eyes red-hot.”
I kept my grip on his wrists. “Take your time, old chap, and tell us about it. Blenkiron and I are here, and old Peter’s on the roof not far off. We’ll look after you.”
“It does me good to hear your voice, Dick,” he said. “It reminds me of clean, honest things.”
“They’ll come back, never fear. We’re at the last lap now. One more spurt and it’s over. You’ve got to tell me what the new snag is. Is it that woman?”
He shivered like a frightened colt. “Woman!” he cried. “Does a woman drag a man through the nether-pit? She’s a she-devil. Oh, it isn’t madness that’s wrong with her. She’s as sane as you and as cool as Blenkiron. Her life is an infernal game of chess, and she plays with souls for pawns. She is evil—evil—evil.” And once more he buried his head in his hands.
It was Blenkiron who brought sense into this hectic atmosphere. His slow, beloved drawl was an antiseptic against nerves.
“Say, boy,” he said, “I feel just like you about the lady. But our job is not to investigate her character. Her Maker will do that good and sure some day. We’ve got to figure how to circumvent her, and for that you’ve got to tell us what exactly’s been occurring since we parted company.”