A pack of
greasy cards lay on the table-top, showing that Joey had been passing his
time at solitaire.
This fact showed Roy that the plot had been carefully concocted, and that
the trap was all ready to be sprung much earlier in the day. Only a brain
like Mortlake's, he reasoned, could have thought out such an intricate
plan. And yet, what could be Mortlake's object?
"Now, then," announced Joey, when he had lighted the tin kerosene lamp,
"I'll show you to your quarters, Master Prescott."
A chill ran through Roy at the words. What could be coming now? With his
pistol in his hand, Joey gently urged Roy into a rear room, his companion
following with the lamp. Once in the room, Joey stepped forward, and,
stooping down, raised a trap door in the centre of the floor. A rank,
musty smell rushed up as he opened it.
"Thar's your abode for the next three or four hours," he said with a grin
to Roy and pointing downward.
The boy shuddered.
"Not in there?" he said.
"Them's our orders," said Joey shortly. "There's a ladder there now. You
can climb down on that. Don't be scared. It's only a cellar, and
guaranteed snake-proof. When the time comes, we'll lower the ladder to you
again, an' git you out."
Roy looked desperately about him. Unarmed, he knew that he did not stand a
chance against his burly captives, but had it not been for the fact that
one of them had a pistol, he would have, even then, attempted to make a
break for liberty.
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