Ellison, bending in a crouch over the prone figure, looked up.
“Did he faint?” he asked Toby sharply.
“N—no, sir. Just fell down that way.”
“Are you—sure?”
“Ye—yes-sir.”
Roger moved closer. “Is he—alive?”
“His pulse is very low, but he breathes. Now,” Ellison stood up, organizing them dictatorially, “Toby, bring ammonium—any form.”
It flicked through Roger’s subconscious mind that the electrician knew chemicals. He had not used the ordinary, every-day “ammonia” but then he had not added the word to indicate the chemical nature of an ammonia solution. It might be because he was excited.
“Roger, have the stenographer call a doctor—or an ambulance from police Headquarters is a quicker call. Zendt, what do you say this is?—Stroke? Coma?” The bio-chemist bent down, squatted.
“Did he stand in front of that Beta-ray?” he asked Toby.