The man, being gagged, only gasped.
‘There’s this, too,’ said Merton, ‘the senders of the last message clearly think that Gianesi is against them. If Gianesi removes the machine, they say—’
Merton did not finish his sentence, he rushed out of the room. Presently he hurried back. ‘Mr.
Macrae,’ he said, ‘Blake’s door is locked. I can’t waken him, and, if he were in his room, the noise we have made must have wakened him already. Logan, ungag that creature!’
Logan removed the gag.
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
The captive was silent.
‘Mr. Macrae,’ said Merton, ‘may I run and bring Donald and the other servants here? Donald must work the machine at once, and we must break in Blake’s door, and, if he is off, we must rouse the country after him.’
Mr. Macrae seemed almost dazed, the rapid sequence of unusual circumstances being remote from his experience. In spite of the blaze of electric light, the morning was beginning to steal into the room; the refreshments on the table looked oddly dissipated, there was a heavy stale smell of tobacco, and of whisky from a bottle that had been upset in the struggle. Mr. Macrae opened a window and inhaled the fresh air from the Atlantic.
This revived him. ‘I’ll ring the alarm bell,’ he said, and, putting a small key to an unnoticed keyhole in a panel, he opened a tiny door, thrust in his hand, and pressed a knob. Instantly from the Castle tower came the thunderous knell of the alarm. ‘I had it put in in case of fire or burglars,’ explained the millionaire, adding automatically, ‘every modern improvement.’