He looked appealingly at Follansbee. The latter could no longer bear his ignominious position on the floor. With a look of defiance he scrambled to his feet, and Carter and his assistant allowed him to do so, although they ranged themselves on either side of him.
Follansbee knew that he was in desperate straits, but he believed that his star was not yet ready to set. He made one mistake, however; for he imagined that Winthrop Crawford had been inoculated with the deadly disease.
“You are mistaken,” he said daringly. “By this time Crawford must be suffering from the disease that you placed in his veins.”
“No, no, no! You don’t mean that—you can’t mean it!” Stone broke out, in a horrified voice. “You told me that the syringe was filled with a harmless liquid.”
“That was a lie,” was the brutal answer.
A groan burst from the lips of the tall man, and his lean figure seemed to shrivel. “Then Heaven help me!” he moaned. “I’ve killed the man I love best in the world.”
“No, you have not!”
CHAPTER XLVI.
THE BOND IS MENDED.
Crisply, cuttingly, the words came from Nick Carter’s lips, and Follansbee wheeled on him in a flash.