“He motioned for me to take a bottle out of his pocket, and give him some of its contents. I did so, and he was soon on his feet. So you see I had the remedy right in my own hands. As for the doctor’s rig, I made him give that up at the police station.”
“It was a perfect fit,” laughed Chick. “How Nixon started when you threw it off.”
“You were conscious at that time?”
“Of course. I began to recover the instant you gave me the antidote, but I didn’t want those fellows to catch on. I guess Nixon had an idea that I was as good as dead. When I sprang from the bed and got him by the neck he acted as if he had seen a ghost.”
“You saved my life there,” said Nick. “I couldn’t have fought another round.”
One of the detectives who stood by the window now turned toward the little group.
“It’s time to go,” he said. “The lights are out in the chophouse and the drill must be going.”
“They are two hours late now,” said Nick, “but they may be waiting for Nixon and the two doctors.”
“They’ll have to wait a long time,” said Chick.
The two detectives, Nick and Chick, now left the room and walked down to the chophouse, where they stopped.