"How long has he been asleep?" a new voice asked. Or was it new? It seemed familiar somehow, but I connected it with some other place.
"Doc gave him some shots," someone answered. "We brought him in this time yesterday."
There was a pause. Then the half-familiar voice again. "I don't like his being alive. However—perhaps we can make use of him."
"Gros wanted him alive," another voice said. I recognized Gaston. He sounded sullen. "He had big plans for him."
The other voice grunted. There was a silence for a few moments.
"He's no good to us until the face is healed. Keep him here until I send along further instructions."
I hadn't liked what I heard, but for the present I had no choice but to lie here and try to regain my strength. At least, I was comfortably set up in this huge bed. I drifted off to sleep again.
I awoke with Gaston sitting by the bed, smoking. He sat up when I opened my eyes, crushed out his cigarette in an ash tray on the table, and leaned forward.
"How are you feeling, Hammer-hand?" he said.
"Rested," I said. My voice came out in a faint whisper. I was surprised at its weakness.