Hugh laughed, and then suddenly grew serious.
“By the way, you didn’t see a man chewing gum on the horizon, did you, when I made my entrance? Dogrobber suit, and face like a motor-mascot.”
“Thank God, I was spared that!” remarked Algy.
“Good!” returned Hugh. “He’s probably away with it by now, and he’s no fool. For I’m thinking it’s only Peter and him between us and—” He left his remark unfinished, and for a while there was silence. “Jerry is over in France still, putting stamp-paper on his machine; Ted’s gone up to see that Potts is taking nourishment.”
“And here we sit like three well-preserved specimens in a bally museum,” broke in Algy, with a rueful laugh. “What’ll they do to us, Hugh?”
But Drummond did not answer, and the speaker, seeing the look on his face, did not press the question.
Slowly the hours dragged on, until the last gleams of daylight had faded from the skylight above, and a solitary electric light, hung centrally, gave the only illumination. Periodically Heinrich had come in to see that they were still secure: but from the sounds of the hoarse laughter which came at frequent intervals through the half-open door, it was evident that the German had found other and more congenial company. At length he appeared carrying a tray with bread and water on it, which he placed on a table near Hugh.
“Food for you, you English swine,” he remarked, looking gloatingly at each in turn. “Herr Lakington the order gave, so that you will fit be tomorrow morning. Fit for the torture.” He thrust his flushed face close to Drummond’s, and then deliberately spat at him.
Algy Longworth gave a strangled grunt, but Drummond took no notice. For the past half-hour he had been sunk in thought, so much so that the others had believed him asleep. Now, with a quiet smile, he looked up at the German.
“How much, my friend,” he remarked, “are you getting for this?”
The German leered at him.
“Enough to see that you tomorrow are here,” he said.
“And I always believed that yours was a business nation,” laughed Hugh. “Why, you poor fool, I’ve got a thousand pounds in notes in my cigarette-case.” For a moment the German stared at him; then a look of greed came into his pig-eyes.
“You hof, hof you?” he grunted. “Then the filthy Boche will for you of them take care.”
Hugh looked at him angrily.
“If you do,” he cried, “you must let me go.”
The German leered still more.
“Natürlich. You shall out of the house at once walk.”
He stepped up to Drummond and ran his hands over his coat, while the others stared at one another in amazement. Surely Hugh didn’t imagine the swine would really let him go; he would merely take the money and probably spit in his face again. Then they heard him speaking, and a sudden gleam of comprehension dawned on their faces.
“You’ll have to undo one of the ropes, my friend, before you can get at it,” said Hugh quietly.
For a moment the German hesitated. He looked at the ropes carefully; the one that bound the arms and the upper part of the body was separate from the rope round the legs. Even if he did undo it the fool Englishman was still helpless, and he knew that he was unarmed. Had he not himself removed his revolver, as he lay unconscious in the hall? What risk was there, after all? Besides, if he called someone else in he would have to share the money.
And, as he watched the German’s indecision, Hugh’s forehead grew damp with sweat. … Would he undo the rope? Would greed conquer caution?
At last the Boche made up his mind, and went behind the chair. Hugh felt him fumbling with the rope, and flashed an urgent look of caution at the other two.
“You’d better be careful, Heinrich,” he remarked, “that none of the others see, or you might have to share.”
The German ceased undoing the knot, and grunted. The English swine had moments of brightness, and he went over and closed the door. Then he resumed the operation of untying the rope; and, since it was performed behind the chair, he was in no position to see the look on Drummond’s face. Only the two spectators could see that, and they had almost ceased breathing in their excitement. That he had a plan they knew: what it was they could not even guess.
At last the rope fell clear, and the German sprang back.
“Put the case on the table,” he cried, having not the slightest intention of coming within range of those formidable arms.
“Certainly not,” said Hugh, “until you undo my legs. Then you shall have it.”
Quite loosely he was holding the case in one hand; but the others, watching his face, saw that it was strained and tense.
“First I the notes must have.” The German strove to speak conversationally, but all the time he was creeping nearer and nearer to the back of the chair. “Then I your legs undo, and you may go.”
Algy’s warning cry rang out simultaneously with the lightning dart of the Boche’s hand as he snatched at the cigarette-case over Drummond’s shoulder. And then Drummond laughed a low, triumphant laugh. It was the move he had been hoping for, and the German’s wrist was held fast in his vice-like grip. His plan had succeeded.
And Longworth and Sinclair, who had seen many things in their lives, the remembrance of which will be with them till their dying day, had never seen and are never likely to see anything within measurable distance of what they saw in the next few minutes. Slowly, inexorably, the German’s arm was being twisted, while he uttered hoarse, gasping cries, and beat impotently at Drummond’s head with his free hand. Then at last there was a dull crack
