"It's for you to say whether you want to eat that
pill and get your even chance, or whether you want
to get shot. The shooting method is sure, but it
causes talk. These pills won't. WHICH?"
And he pulls a revolver. Which I suppose he
had got that too when he went down after them
pills.
Henry, he looks at the gun.
Then he looks at the pill.
Then he swallers the pill.
The perfessor puts his gun back into his pocket,
and then he puts his pill into his mouth. He don't
swaller it. He looks at the watch, and he looks at
Henry.
"Sixteen minutes past eleven," he says. "AT
EXACTLY TWENTY-NINE MINUTES TO TWELVE MR. MURRAY
WILL BE DEAD. I got the harmless one. I can tell
by the taste."
And he put the pieces out into his hand, to show
that he has chewed his'n up, not being willing to
wait fifteen minutes fur a verdict from his digestive
ornaments. Then he put them pieces back into
his mouth and chewed 'em up and swallered 'em
down like he was eating cough drops.
Henry has got sweat breaking out all over his
face, and he tries to make fur the door, but he falls
down onto a sofa.
"This is murder," he says, weak-like. And he
tries to get up again, but this time he falls to the floor
in a dead faint.
"It's a dern short fifteen minutes," I thinks to
myself.
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