Nixon stared. "Keep me here, telling me I'll not be harmed until you're ready to vivisect me!"
"No! No—" the Orite girl cried vehemently. "Not that! Never! Father has promised it!"
"He has found that his work does not need it," Loto said earnestly. "Believe us, that is true. The panther has not yet been used. Perhaps it never will be. And Frane does not need you. He thought that he would. But now he's almost sure it isn't necessary."
"And Tork is still trying to persuade your leaders to have Frane—use me?" Nixon demanded.
"Yes," Loto admitted. "That is so. You see, the drugs are so terribly important to us—"
"But my father needs nothing more," Nona said. "Except perhaps, my giant, there will be blood samples—"
"And a little tissue to be studied with our microscopes," Loto put in. "And secretion, perhaps, from the pituitary gland—"
A grave little group of scientists, with Frane, came one day for specimens from the giant. Then they came again. Their tiny surgical instruments were like needles pricking and Nixon only laughed grimly.
But would Frane succeed with his experiments? It seemed now as though Nixon's life hung on that. Then there was a day when Nona said impulsively,
"My father is more sure than ever of success. But Tork refuses to believe it."