Brooks shouted and hung up the phone. The mutape was chattering violently. He unlocked the door, flung himself to the bed and took the recorder between his hands. The grasp on her wrist relaxed, and she leaned over to decipher the punched tape as it unrolled from the machine. Its dot patterns were unverbalized bloody agony, cleanly formulated in computer language. "He'll verbalize," Brooks said. "Just don't look at him--thank God they've found Gesner." A red, bloated forehead above eyes fixed on her own through lenses of gray fluid as it writhed and pressed up against the Broca cup in her fist. She covered her face, and between her fingers the sleeping Barger face still lay on its pillow. * * * * * Dr. Brooks screwed his own features into a wink, and she turned away to watch the unrolling tape still chattering between his hands: "England is the only hope. We must go through immediately before direct control and defenses build against us--morphine, why did you not give me morphine? Pain is intolerable." "Analgesics nullify the Gesner shots," Brooks said. "Morphine," chattered the tape, "worth it, worth it, cure me when we have left for England. And hurry, they want me alive, and as soon as they control the police...." Turning under Dr. Brooks' twisted glance as he took the Broca cup, she went to the sink and scrubbed her hands. She found the hypodermic and phial in the black satchel and measured two cc of clear tincture of morphine, and turned back to the arm which grasped Dr. Brooks' wrist, pressing the cup hard against a swollen red mass. She rolled up the sleeve of the hospital gown which led to a raised shoulder (she wouldn't look at the face) and hesitated--another needle was already stuck in the muscle, protruding just above the skin. She found the vein and pushed the plunger in, and withdrew her needle. Dr. Brooks said, "Get that out of there." She took tweezers from her bathrobe pocket and carefully removed an inch of broken hypodermic shaft. The blood spurted. She reached for cotton and alcohol. Three bells rang in the corridor as the door slid open, and Miss Erwin came fluttering in. "Don't look, Hilda!" warned Miss Knox. "Calling the emergency rooms," said a piping voice. "Beware of patient William Barger who may attempt to escape. He may be armed...." The mutape chattered. "Here, take the cup," said Dr. Brooks. He picked up the bedside chair and placed it on the foot of the bed. Climbing onto the swaying surface like a trained ape, he reached up and loosened the screws which held the light globe in place on the ceiling, and threw it to shatter on the floor. Miss Erwin stepped backward. Then she tiptoed toward the light and steadied the chair, and stared at the patient's face in fascination. Dr. Brooks was tugging at an object resembling a camera, attached by a spring clamp between the bulbs of the ceiling fixture. "Hilda!" Miss Knox said. "Oh, look at his face now!"