Roger lighted the white, glaring dome light, ignoring possible ruining of the developing plates in his trays.
He knew every content of that room.
Nothing was out of place except what he had been using.
There was the extra paraphernalia of the oxygen apparatus. Nothing else was visible.
It came to him that no odor or fume could be liberated that would cause such frenzy in the little white savior unless it was introduced from an outside source.
He would find out.
He went to the intake of the ventilator, and with litmus paper, and other handy agents, he made several tests, keeping his nose and lips within the tight folds of a handkerchief as he did it.
The litmus did not at once indicate anything. But when he thought of what he had sometimes read of closed garages, with car engines running, in which people had been overcome by exhaust fumes such as carbon monoxide, he made a hasty test, with what he had available, and was very sure that the gas or one of that nature, was in the air.
A tiny animal might be going to save his life. Roger knew his next move. He would shut the ventilator, prevent the inflow of any more fumes, leaving the exhaust openings to suck clear the accumulation which would lie near the floor. He got his oxygen equipment, and climbing onto the highest table, he made an improvised airman’s outfit such as they used when ascending beyond the human range of breathable air. He used his oxygen and mixed it with air inhaled only through a handkerchief strainer.
He thought in this way he could hold out, and then whoever had come so close to being in line for the electric chair——. He watched the mouse for signs.