Smathers pointed at the bottles. “Some of those are mislabeled. They all say vitamins of one kind or another on the label, but the tablets inside aren’t all vitamins. MacNeil’s been giving himself all kinds of things.”
Pilar’s eyes widened a trifle. “Do you suppose—”
“That one of them is an antidote?” Smathers snorted. “Hell, anything’s possible at this stage of the game. The best thing we can do, I think, is give him a dose of everything there, and see what happens.”
“Yeah, Doc, yeah,” said MacNeil smiling weakly, “I feel a little better. Not real good, you understand, but better.”
Under iron control, Dr. Smathers put on his best bedside manner, while Pilar and Petrelli hovered in the background.
“Now, look, son,” said Smathers in a kindly voice, “we found the medicines in your locker box.”
MacNeil’s face fell, making him look worse. He’d dropped down close to death before the conglomerate mixture which had been pumped into his stomach had taken effect, and Smathers had no desire to put too much pressure on the man.
“Now, don’t worry about it, son,” he said hurriedly; “We’ll see to it that you aren’t punished for it. It’s all right. We just want to ask you a few questions.”
“Sure, Doc; anything,” said MacNeil. But he still looked apprehensive.