Billy had no time to cry out, no time to call for help, even if the surprise of the moment had permitted. The clutch on his throat was the tightest and the strongest he had ever experienced; he was dragged ruthlessly forward till his chin met the side of the car, and at the same time a rag that smelt of some strange chemical was forced against his nostrils. He tried hard not to breathe, but the breath came, and with it giddiness—and darkness.
It had been chloroform—that was the word that his whole brain shouted, and it accompanied his nightmarish swoop into insensibility.
Back in the char-à-banc his companions were becoming a trifle impatient.
"Did any of you see where Billy got to?" asked Silver.
One of them knew—said that he had seen Billy speaking to the grimy youth at the door, but had thought no more about it.
"It's a funny thing—cut back and see whether he's in the dressing-room," said Silver.
But no; Faraday was not there—nor, indeed, anywhere in the neighbourhood. The team spent a fruitless half-hour in the search, and concluded that Billy must, for some strange reason or other, have gone back to Deepwater alone.
"Perhaps he met a friend who gave him a lift," suggested Martin. "But it's funny he didn't let us know."
"I believe Billy comes from Victoria, though," said Silver thoughtfully. "Would a friend of his be hanging around this place? Perhaps ... anyhow, we'll wait for a bit."
They waited, but as Billy did not show up within another quarter of an hour, they concluded that he had unaccountably gone on his own; and they set out for the College with some misgivings, but hoping that there was nothing wrong....