"The air--there ain't no air.

I'm choking--and--" "Get him some water," cried Bill Gregg, "while I open the window." "Stay where you are, Bill." "But he looks like he's dying!" "Then he's killed himself." "Gents," began the fat man feebly and made a short step toward them.
The step was uncompleted.

In the middle of it he wavered, put out his arms and slumped upon his side on the floor.
Bill Gregg cried out softly in astonishment and horror, but Ronicky Doone knelt calmly beside the fallen bulk and felt the beating of his heart.
"He ain't dead," he said quietly, "but he'll be tolerably sick for a while.

Now come along with me." "But what's all this mean ?" asked Bill Gregg in a whisper, as he picked up his suit case and hurried after Ronicky.
"Doped booze," said Ronicky curtly.
They hurried down the stairs and came out onto the dark street.

There Ronicky Doone dropped his suit case and dived into a dark nook beside the entrance.