“Nicholas,” he said, “I don’t blame you for fencing, but I like plain words. You’ve done well out of this new Party. I haven’t. You’ve no hobby except saving your money. I have. My last two experiments, notwithstanding the Government allowance, have left me drained. I need money as you others need bread. I can live without food or drink, but I can’t be without the means to keep my laboratories going. Do you understand me?” “I do,” Fenn assented, taking up his hat. “Come, I’ll drive towards Bermondsey with you. We’ll talk on the way.” CHAPTER XIII Julian raised himself slightly from his recumbent position at the sound of the opening of the door. He watched Fenn with dull, incurious eyes as the latter crossed the uncarpeted floor of the bare wooden shed, threw off his overcoat, and advanced towards the side of the couch. “Sit up a little,” the newcomer directed. Julian shook his head. “No strength,” he muttered. “If I had, I should wring your damned neck!” Fenn looked down at him for a moment in silence. “You take this thing very hardly, Mr. Orden,” he said. “I think that you had better give up this obstinacy. Your friends are getting anxious about you. For many reasons it would be better for you to reappear.” “There will be a little anxiety on the part of your friends about you,” Julian retorted grimly, “if ever I do get out of this accursed place.” “You bear malice, I fear, Mr. Orden.” Julian made no reply. His eyes were fixed upon the door. He turned away with a shudder. Bright had entered. In his hand he was carrying two gas masks. He came over to the side of the couch, and, looking down at Julian, lifted his hand, and felt his pulse. Then, with an abrupt movement, he handed one of the masks to Fenn. “Look out for yourself,” he advised. “I am going to give him an antidote.” Bright stepped back and adjusted his own gas mask, while Fenn followed suit. Then the former drew from his pocket what seemed to be a small tube with perforated holes at the top. He leaned over Julian and pressed it. A little cloud of faint mist rushed through the holes; a queer, aromatic perfume, growing stronger every moment, seemed to creep into the farthest corners of the room. In less than ten seconds Julian opened his eyes. In half a minute he was sitting up. His eyes were bright once more, there was colour in his cheeks. Bright spoke to him warningly. “Mr. Orden,” he enjoined, “sit where you are. Remember I have the other tube in my left hand.” “You infernal scoundrel!” Julian exclaimed. “Mr. Bright,” Fenn asserted, “is nothing of the sort. Neither am I. We are both honest men faced with a colossal situation. There is nothing personal in our treatment of you. We have no enmity towards you. You are simply a person who has committed a theft.” “What puzzles me,” Julian muttered, “is what you expect I am going to do about you, if ever I do escape from your clutches.”