“I can easily convince you that it is,” Follansbee assured him.
He unfastened his cuff link and pulled up his cuff, revealing a lean, yellow forearm.
“Watch!” he said.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
“YOU’VE SAVED ME FROM MYSELF!”
“You probably did not inject all of it,” Follansbee continued, as he withdrew the plunger of the syringe.
He thrust the needle beneath the skin of his arm and pressed the plunger almost home; then, as he withdrew the syringe, a tiny drop of clear liquid appeared on the end of the needle, and a further compression of the plunger caused the globule to drop on his arm under the puncture.
“There, that ought to convince any man, sane or insane,” the cool voice resumed. “Had this been a deadly culture, you will admit that I would hardly be so mad as to run even the slightest risk of being infected by it.”
His manner and act carried conviction to the perturbed brain of James Stone.