A shudder of horror swept through the crowd.  Every one looked into his neighbour’s face with a profound inquiring light in his eyes, seeking for the first evidence of approaching death.

Hollingsworth Chase uttered a short, scornful laugh as he unconcernedly lifted a match to one of his precious cigarettes.  The others stared at him in amazement.  He had been exceedingly thoughtful and preoccupied up to that moment.

“Great God, Chase!” groaned Browne.  “Is this a joke?”

“Yes—­and it’s on Rasula,” said the other laconically.

“But even now, man, they are introducing this poison into our systems——­”

“You say that Rasula isn’t aware of the fact that you overheard what he said to his man?  Then, even now, in spite of your escape, he believes that we may go on drinking the water without in the least suspecting what it has in store for us.  Good!  That’s why I say the joke is on him.”

“But, my God, we must have water to drink,” cried Britt.  Mrs. Saunders alone divined the thought that filled Chase’s mind.  She clapped her hands and cried out wonderingly: 

“I know!  I—­I took depositions in a poisoning case two years ago.  Why, of course!”

“Browne, you are a doctor—­a chemist,” said Chase calmly, first bestowing a fine smile upon the eager Mrs. Saunders.  “Well, we’ll distil and double and triple distil the water.  That’s all.  A schoolboy might have thought of that.  It’s all right, old man.  You’re fagged out; your brain isn’t working well.  Don’t look so crestfallen.  Mr. Britt, you and Mr. Saunders will give immediate instructions that no more water is to be drunk—­or used—­until Mr. Browne has had a few hours’ rest.  He can take an alcohol bath and we can all drink wine.  It won’t hurt us.  At ten o’clock sharp Dr. Browne will begin operating the distilling apparatus in the laboratory.  As a matter of fact, I learned somewhere—­at college, I imagine—­that practically pure water may be isolated from wine.”  He arose painfully and stretched himself.  “I think I’ll get a little much-needed rest.  Do the same, Browne—­and have a rub down.  By Jove, will you listen to the row my clients are making out there in the woods!  They seem to be annoyed over something.”

Outside the walls the islanders were shouting and calling to each other; rifles were cracking, far and near, voicing, in their peculiarly spiteful way, the rage that reigned supreme.

As Chase ascended the steps Bobby Browne and his wife came up beside him.

“Chase,” said Browne, in a low voice, his face turned away to hide the mortification that filled his soul, “you are a man!  I want you to know that I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

“Never mind, old man!  Say no more,” interrupted Chase, suddenly embarrassed.

“I’ve been a fool, Chase.  I don’t deserve the friendship of any one—­not even that of my wife.  It’s all over, though.  You understand?  I’m not a coward.  I’ll do anything you say—­take any risk—­to pay for the trouble I’ve caused you all.  Send me out to fight——­”