“Didn’t we rent it for this special occasion?”
The men conversed for some moments in whispers, and then the doctor crept cautiously to the head of the stairs.
“He is still there,” he whispered back, in a moment.
“Yes.”
“Then throw your poison ball.”
The doctor drew away from the doorway for a second, and took a little round white substance from his pocket.
“You can’t use the place to-morrow,” he said, warningly, as he for a moment held the ball suspended in the air between his thumb and forefinger.
“What is it?” asked Gilmore.
“Something made for just such places,” was the reply.