and his hand was pressed against her mouth. One of the men was carrying what looked like a rubber bottle with a conical-shaped mouthpiece. She struggled, but the doctor held her in a grip of steel. She was thrown to the ground, the rubber cap of the bottle was pressed over her face, there came a rush of cold air heavily charged with a sickly scent, and she felt life slipping away. . . .
"I think she's off now," said the doctor, lifting up her eyelid, "see if the coast is clear, Gregory, and open the door of my flat."
The man departed. The doctor lifted the unconscious girl in his arms. He was in the hall when he felt her move. Half-conscious as she was, she was struggling to prevent the abduction.
"Quick, the door!" he gasped.
He carried her across the landing into his room, and the door closed quietly behind him.
CHAPTER XI
THE HOUSE NEAR STAINES
OLIVA CRESSWELL remembered nothing. She did not remember being thrust limply into a long narrow box, nor hearing Beale's voice, nor the click of the door that fastened him in Dr. van Heerden's bedroom. If she cried out, as she did, she had no recollection of the fact.
"Carry her, box and all, to her flat. The door is open," whispered van Heerden to the two men who had made their lightning disappearance into the anatomical cases at the sound of Beale's knock.
"What shall we do?"
"Wait till I come to you. Hurry!"
They crossed the landing and passed through the open door of Oliva's flat and the doctor closed the door be-
