Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 98: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

~ The blinds of the car were down, but by small painful movements he managez to make out that there was a man in the front seat beside the chauffeur. By and by he got a corner of the right-hand blind raised, and saw that it was night time and that they were moving through broad streets that looked like a suburb. From the beat of the engine he gathered that the car was a Rolls-Royce, but not, he thought, one of the latest models. Presently the motion became less regular, and he realized that the suburban streets were giving place to country roads. His many expeditions in his. Delage had taught him a good deal about the ways out of London, but, try as he might, he could not pick up any familiar landmark. The young moon had set, so he assumed that it was near midnight; it was a fine, clear night, not very dark, and he picked up an occa- sional inn and church, but they never seemed to pass through any village. Prob- ably the driver was taking the less fre- quented roads—a view he was confirmed in by the frequent right-angled turns and the many patches of indifferent surface. Very soon he found his efforts at recon- naissance so painful that he gave them up, and contented himself with planning his policy. Of course he must play the part of the witless sheep. That duty, he thought, presented no difficulties, for he rather fan- cied himself as an actor. The trouble was his bodily condition. He did not believe that a constitution as good as his could have taken any permanent damage from the night’s work. The night’s! He must have been away for more than one night, for the row with Archie had taken place very near twelve o’clock. This must be the mid- night following. He wondered what Mr. Victor was think- ing about it—and Mary—and Hannay. The miserable Hannay had now four lost ones to look for instead of three! Any- how, the devils had got an ugly prisoner in him. His body must soon be all right, unless of course they took steps to keep it all wrong. At that thought Turpin’s jaw set. The rdle of the docile sheep might be difficult to keep up very long. The next he knew the car had turned _ vintage. - ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. in at a gate and was following a dark tree- lined avenue. In another minute it had stopped before the door of a house, and he was being lifted out by the chauffeur and the man from the front seat, and carried into-a hall. But first a dark bandanna was tied over his eyes, and as he could do noth- ing with his arms or_Jegs, he had to sub- mit. He felt himself carried up a short staircase, and then along a corridor into a bedroom, where a lamp was lit. A pleasant country bedroom, it seemed, with water colors on the walls. Hands un- dressed him—his eyes still bandaged—and equipped him with pyjamas which were not his own, and were at once too roomy and too short. Then food was brought, and an English voice observed that he had bet- ter have some supper before going to sleep. The bandage was taken off, and he saw two male backs disappearing through the door. Up till now he had felt no hunger or thirst, but the sight of food made him realize that he was as empty as a drum. By twisting his head he could see it all. laid out on the table beside his bed—a good meal it looked—cold ham and galantine, ar omelette, a salad, cheese, and a small dc- canter of red wine. His soul longed for it, but what about his feeble limbs? Was this some new torture of Tantalus? Desire grew, and like an automaton he moved to it. He felt all numbed, with needles and pins everywhere, but surely he was less feeble than he had been in the car. First he managed to get his right arm extended, and by flexing the elbow and wrist a certain life seemed to creep back. Then he did the same thing with his right leg, and presently found that he could wriggle by inches to the edge of the bed. He was soon out of breath, but there could be no doubt about it, he was getting stronger. An access of thirst enabled him to grasp the decanter, and after some trouble with the stopper, to draw it to his lips. Spilling a good deal, he succeeded in getting a mouthful. “‘ Larose,’ he murmured, “and a good It would have been better if it had been cognac.” Eomichbooks (S@