Catherwood's mouth worked convulsively and then he muttered hoarsely: "Water! water!"
Mrs. Turner hurried to the bathroom and returned with a cup, which the assistant professor took from her and held to the young man's lips. He gulped eagerly.
"Look at his face!" cried Mrs. Turner.
It was streaked and spotted with a brown stain.
"Is it blood?" The woman shivered.
The assistant professor sniffed.
"Iodine," he exclaimed. "And see," he added, stooping, "here's the bottle." He held up the phial that had caught his eye where it lay on the floor at the foot of the bed.
"Untie my hands," Catherwood gurgled—"Here, behind me!"
They were tied securely by two handkerchiefs knotted together. The assistant professor fumbled at the loops. He disengaged the swollen wrists and Catherwood sat up in bed. He loosened the bindings of his ankles himself and stood up.
"Whew!" he whistled.