Fischer bent a little lower over the prostrate figure,
“Look here,” he went on, “we don’t
run risks like this for nothing. You’re
better dead than alive, so far as we are concerned,
anyway. We’d planned to take the formula
from you, and you can guess the rest. There are
cellars underneath here into which no one ever goes
who matters. Now here’s a chance of life
for you. Write down that formula—truthfully,
mind—and we’ll discuss the matter
of taking your parole.”
“See you damned first!” Graham repeated,
his voice a little more tremulous but still convincing.
Fischer stood upright and turned to Jules.
“Get a bottle of brandy and a glass,”
he ordered.
The man pushed open the trap-door and disappeared.
He came back again in a few moments, with a bottle
in one hand and a glass in the other. Fischer
poured out some of the cordial and drew a small table
up to Graham’s side.
“There,” he said, loosening the cord around
his left wrist, “drink that, and think it over.
We shall be gone for about ten minutes. If you
change your mind before, ring that little hand-bell.
If you have not changed your mind when we return,
it will be the cellars.”
“Beasts!” Graham muttered.
Fischer shrugged his shoulders. For a moment
he had straightened himself. His face had softened,
but it was in tune with his thoughts.
“I would twist the necks of a million fools
like you,” he said, “for the sake of—”
He paused, leaving his sentence uncompleted, and beckoned
to the other men. They followed him through the
trap-door and down into the cellars below. The
place was once more silent. Graham rolled from
side to side, drew a long breath, and tugged vainly
at his bonds. The effort overtaxed his strength.
He seemed to feel the darkness closing in upon him,
the rushing of the sea in his ears....
So far as Sandy Graham was concerned, his unconsciousness
might have lasted an hour or a day. As a matter
of fact, it was scarcely a minute after the disappearance
of Fischer and his confederates when he was conscious
of a rush of cold air in the place, and beheld the
vision of a tiny flash of light at the lower end of
the gloomy building. Immediately afterwards he
heard the soft closing of a door and beheld a tall,
shadowy figure slowly approaching. He lay quite
still and looked at it, and his heart began to beat
with hope. One of the lights had been left burning,
and there was something in the bearing and attitude
of the man who finally came to a standstill by his
side, which was entirely reassuring.
“Lutchester!” he faltered. “My
God, how did you get here?”
“Offices of a young lady,” Lutchester
observed, producing a knife from his pocket.
“Allow me!”
He cut the cords which still secured Graham’s
limbs. Then he looked around him.
“How did they bring you here?” he whispered.
“I suppose there is a passage from the restaurant?”
