When Hale saw and understood, he leaped across the room to plant his body in front of Aña; for Sir Basil was behind the life-machine, reaching for the controls of the ray projector.
Suddenly, from behind Hale, a silver streak shot across the room. Sir Basil groaned and sank to the floor of the laboratory.
A keen-bladed dissecting knife, thrown by Aña, stuck out from his left breast.
Aña ran forward, sobbing wildly. “Oh, Aimu! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for it to strike you there. Only your hand, Aimu! I didn’t want Hale to die, Aimu. I didn’t—oh!”
She was on her knees by the scientist’s side, his head held in her slender arms.
“He’s breathing!” she rejoiced. “Some masata, Hale, quick!”
Hale found a bottle of good brandy which he had contributed from his own supplies. Soon Sir Basil gasped and opened his eyes. He stared about him wildly, then gasped:
“I’m dying, Hale Oakham! Quick, the life-machine, before my mind-electron escapes.”
He tried to pull his body up, but fell back, weak and panting.
Hale hesitated, looking doubtfully at Aña.