ell went with him, his face expressionless.
"My cabin should be unlocked," said Ortiz.
It was. Ortiz entered, and, with his hands still in his pockets, indicated a steamer-trunk.
"Please open that." He licked his lips. "I—I had thought I would have warning enough. It has not been so severe before. Right at the top...."
Bell flung the top back. A pair of bright and shiny handcuffs lay on top of a dress shirt.
"Yes," said Ortiz steadily. "Put them upon my wrists, please. The poison that has been given to me is—peculiar. I believe that one of your compatriots has experienced its effects."
Bell started slightly. Ortiz eyed him steadily.
"Precisely." Ortiz, with his face a gray mask of horror, spoke with a steadiness Bell could never have accomplished. "A poison, Senor Bell, which has made a member of the Secret Service of the United States a homicidal maniac. It has been given to me. I have been hoping for its antidote, but—Quick! Senor Bell! Quick! The handcuffs!"