Rat did as he was bid. Awkwardly Val arose and stretched himself. There was almost no feeling in his right leg, and he felt weak and wobbly.
“Funny I’m not dead?” he said. “I must’ve inhaled enough gas to kill half a dozen men. And yet—there didn’t seem to be so much gas at that, Eddie. Wait a minute.” He took a match out of his pocket and attempted to light the gas jet over his head.
It did not light. He tried the other. That did not light, either.
“That’s funny,” he mused. “Here, let’s have the gat, Eddie—I’ll cover him and you tie him up.”
This was done, and, tightly gagged, the Rat was laid on the couch, mystified and hardly yet understanding what had happened.
“Queer about that gas,” remarked Val. “Yet, I don’t smell much of it in the room⸺”
“Nothing funny about it at all,” remarked Eddie, pointing to a meter. “Do you see that?” Val nodded.
“That’s a quarter meter,” Eddie enlightened him. “You put in a quarter and when it is used up the gas goes out and stays out until you put in another quarter. Probably these two rooms used to be rented separately, so they have separate meters.”
“Well, I’ll be. . . . burst out Val. His life had been saved by the fact that nobody had thought about putting a quarter into the meter—and the last quarter had been about used up. Evidently the supply of gas had given out almost immediately after the cock was turned on.
“How did you⸺” Val began, turning to Eddie.
“Never mind that now,” said Eddie. “Let’s get out of here first. Follow me.”
He led the way through the outer room to the hall.
