CHAPTER IIBaby Has a Thirst
Before the Doc could transfer me back into my own body, there was a scuffling in the outer office, and the nurse squeaked briefly. I heard a thump. The door slammed open, and three tough mugs came in, holding guns in their fists—a Webley and two small, flat automatics. The man with the Webley was the same lug Doc McKenney had been throwing out when I arrived. The lug’s moustache was still bristling over the rat-trap mouth, and his eyes looked sleepier than ever. The other two were just gorillas.
“Smith!” Doc said. “Why, you filthy Nazi!” He dived for a scalpel, but Smith was too fast. The Webley’s barrel thunked against Doc’s temple, and the old man went down, cussing a blue streak till Smith hit him again.
“Gut!” one of the other thugs said. I hopped up from
