The man was reeking with sweat, exhausted and in mortal fear. A chill might endanger the success of Dick's design.
Melchard, guessing well what it covered, lifted the fawn-coloured overcoat with resolution; but the earless side of that frightful head, with another and bloody hole making a pair of dead eyes to stare up at him, was too much for the shaken nerve, and Alban Melchard collapsed on his face in the road.
Dick turned him over, lifted an eyelid, and, convinced that the man was unconscious, fetched from the car his bottle of the strange device, and poured a stream from its neck into Melchard's half-open mouth.
For some moment's after, he was afraid that the fit of choked coughing his rough remedy had caused would compel him to leave a second corpse by the roadside.
When it was over, however, it appeared that the stimulant had been partly assimilated, for Melchard was able to stand. When he had got his arms into the overcoat, Dick led him to the car.
From the locker under the seat he produced a thick tumbler.
"Get in," he said, and half-filled the glass from the bottle.
Melchard lay back exhausted in the near-side corner, examining with dull eyes the havoc made by Mut-mut's claw.
"Drink that," said Dick.
Melchard shook his head.