“If you were a medical man you would know why,” Follansbee answered in his squeaking voice. “Between two and three o’clock in the morning human life is at its lowest ebb. The flame of vitality burns more dimly then than at any time during the twenty-four hours. That’s the answer, and its application to this case ought to be apparent enough.”
Nick heard a movement, as though Doctor Follansbee had leaned forward in his chair to drive his point home.
“You have waited months for this, Stone,” the peculiar voice went on, “and an hour more or less can’t make any difference. Crawford will be in a sound sleep at half past two, if he’s as normal as he seems to be, and the low vitality which is natural at that hour will make him an easy subject to handle; in other words, you will have the best chance of successfully drugging him.”
The chair creaked again.
“You’re going now?” asked the miner.
“Yes. It’s much better that I should. My continued presence would tempt us to talk, and we might disturb the man in the next room. You don’t want to do that, you know. You want to find him as helpless as possible when the time comes, so I’d advise you to keep as still as you can. Don’t pace the room, or anything like that.”
“But I’m nervous as a cat,” objected Stone. “Who wouldn’t be?”
“I suppose you are,” Follansbee admitted, “but—here’s something to quiet you. It will give you new courage, too. Just deposit this powder on the end of your tongue and wash it down with a little water.”
There was a pause, and the detective suspected that the miner was staring questionably at Follansbee. Stone’s next words confirmed it.
“You’re sure about this?” the man asked slowly. “It won’t hurt me or keep me from doing what I’ve sworn to do?”