Again the Professor hung up the receiver. "Strange," he soliloquised, "how mentally unbalanced these common men are! I can't imagine myself giving way to such ravings, whatever situation I was in. That's the advantage of birth and education. Yet, judging from the way in which Smithers expresses himself, he must be a man of very fair education. It's birth alone that tells in the long run," and the Professor stroked his stubble chin complacently. The minutes passed. "He ought to be feeling it now. I'll ring him up." The Professor did so, but there was no reply. "He can't have collapsed already--a horse-soldier of thirty-five." Once more he rang. This time there was a slow response. "Why didn't you come before?" said the Professor irately. "I'm not your servant. I was thinking how I'd like to chop you into mincemeat, Blyth, and scatter you to the crows. My head's splitting--splitting, do you hear? I shall go dotty, looking at this infernal heap of fire. Those moving specks of light behind are all alive, Blyth. They're grinning at me. They're choking me. And there you sit like a scientific panjandrum with a little round button on top. And you call yourself a Christian and a respectable family man. You are a disgrace to your country. Come down and let me out. Send for the police. I don't care." "Smithers," said the Professor, "I'm ashamed of you. A horse soldier going on like a nurserymaid! I shall not send for the police. You agreed to this experiment, and you've got to see it through. Please remember that. How's your pulse?" "Blyth, it's 120! It's ticking like a clock. I believe it's going to strike." "Keep cool, Smithers. Have your hands a bluish tinge?" "They seem to be green." "Green? Preposterous!" "They may be blue really. I'm colour blind." "Colour blind, Smithers, and a soldier? I'm surprised at you. I suspect they're only dirty. Do you feel a tingling at the finger tips?" "Yes, and at my toe-tips too." "Excellent! And your temperature?" "One hundred and three. Man, I'm in a fever. I can't breathe. My head's on fire." "You've only been in there an hour and a quarter. You're just beginning to get acclimatised, Smithers," said Professor Blyth callously, as he hung up the receiver. "I wish Cantrip were here," he soliloquised. "'Deoxygenation of the blood corpuscles, followed by coma.' Bah! Radium acts on the nerve centres, and will ultimately produce paralysis. Cantrip is an ass. I always told him so." The bell rang. "Blyth," said the prisoner, "listen to me. If you don't let me out, I'll swallow the radium. It can't make me feel worse, and it may finish me off quicker." "Nonsense, Smithers, don't talk like a fool. It would only add to any--er--inconvenience you are now experiencing." "I don't care what it would do. I----" The Professor cut him off impatiently. "I'm disappointed in John Smithers," he thought. "He has no stamina. A man of low birth, evidently. A mere mountain of muscle. I know the species."