"It's no use," Olliphant said from the floor. "That bottle's mean." Heedless, the nurse braced herself and tugged with all her strength. The bottle gave by a foot, then lurched drunkenly in her grasp. Down on the floor the rivulet of syrup became disturbed, as though feet were churning through it desperately seeking to regain lost traction. Suddenly the bottle gave way and the nurse toppled backwards into Olliphant's lap. Olliphant received this new burden with resignation and a grunt. Across the room, however, there was another sound, as of a body coming in swift contact with the floor. "Damn!" the nurse said hotly, turning to Olliphant. "Keep your big oafish hands off me! Stop reaching." "I'm only reaching for the bottle," Olliphant said. "It's mine." "It didn't feel like it," the nurse retorted. "It felt more like...." She hesitated as from the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of a long body sprawled on the floor. At first glimpse it seemed that the body had no head, but as she looked more closely she saw that it did, though she had the peculiar sensation that it had just come into being. Handing Olliphant the bottle she got to her feet and approached the prone figure. Noting that it was dressed for surgery, she stood staring down at it quizzically for a moment. "Holy smoke!" she breathed. "It's Pillsworth!" She turned to Olliphant. "Come on and help me. We've got to get him down to Surgery right away!" * * * * * Marc felt himself rising through the last shredded mists of unconsciousness. He tried to open his eyes but a glaring light made the attempt too painful. "Give him the anaesthetic," a voice said close by. Panic pulsed through Marc's body. They were going to operate! Necessity gave him a surge of strength and he sat up, staring wildly at the three doctors gathered over him. "No!" he said. "Don't! I'm all right!" "Lie down, Mr. Pillsworth," the doctor nearest advised. "Just lie down and it will all be over with in a minute." "But I'm all right!" Marc said desperately. He glared around at the nurse holding the mask for the anaesthetic. "Get away from me!" "Hysteria," the doctor said. "Quite understandable after what he's been through. He'll have to be restrained." The other two nodded in agreement. Watching Marc closely, they took up positions on either side of him. The first doctor moved to a place at Marc's feet. "When I give the signal," he whispered, "we'll all grab at once." "I heard that!" Marc yelled. "Stay away from me, you croakers, or I'll...!" "Okay!" the doctor cried. "Grab!" The scene over the operating table, for a moment thereafter, was a living abstraction in flailing arms and legs. Though Marc managed at one point to insert his thumb into the eye of the first doctor and his foot into the mouth of the second, the odds were too great against him. In the end he found himself pinioned helplessly to the table.