"Rank poison," he said grimly to Glenwood, "but desperate cases require desperate remedies. I fancy this will complete the job of galvanizing your friend for the time you require. Probably he won't exactly scintillate, but I think he will do." He administered the stuff to O'Byrn, who, half-conscious already despite his relaxed attitude, swallowed it obediently.
"Now in a few minutes," said the doctor, "you can start with him. But remember one thing," he cautioned Glenwood, "this brace is wholly artificial. It won't last. A little later and I couldn't have done much for you anyway. He'll run along like a machine for a while, that's all. Get all you can from him while you can, for there'll be a reaction."
"That's what we've got to do anyway," replied Dick grimly. "It's a case of racing the clock with us from now on."
A little later they descended the stairs, O'Byrn stumbling heedlessly down, assisted by Glenwood. The cabman had waited under instructions. "The Courier office in a hurry," Dick ordered, and assisted Micky inside. Slade followed. He had resolved to be in at the death.
As the cab rolled rapidly south, Dick spoke to the man opposite him, now rousing to a dull consciousness of his surroundings.
"Micky," he demanded, "have you got that story, all of it?" There was an assenting nod.
"Now listen to me, Micky," continued Dick, leaning forward in the dimness, fixing the other's stolid eyes with his own dominant ones, "you're going to turn out that story and it's going to be the story of your life. You won't feel like it, but you're going to do it and it's going to be a dandy. Now get your brain working. Think of that story, every stage of it, from the time you first started out for it till you finished. Fix it in your head, and when the time comes, just spout it. _Don't-think-of-anything-but-that-story!_ Do you understand?"
There was but a single word of response, a little thick, but inspiring of confidence. "Sure."
Dick sat back with a long sigh. His hands were trembling with excitement. A moment later the cab drew up in front of the Courier office.
The elevator sprang upward. As its door was flung back for the trio to emerge, the big editorial clock chimed the hour of midnight. Harkins met them with white face and eyes that revealed the strain of the long hours of suspense. Behind him stared many other eyes, in which shone an overwrought glitter that came of the infectious tension of the situation.