“Strip!” ordered that voice from the platform.
In an instant a dozen hands had seized Steadman. It seemed that there were countless, yellow-masked men in the room. He had not even been conscious of their coming, until he had felt them and those ruthless, yellow, claw-like fingers catching at him on all sides at once. The gripping arms of the chair had released him, but it was in vain that he sought to release himself—he was conscious, vaguely, that the inspector was fighting too. But neither the inspector nor Steadman was in fighting condition. Both of them were elderly men who in their young days had not been athletic, and their efforts now were hopeless. Their garments were rent from them, the contents of their pockets were passed to the man on the platform, who commented upon them sarcastically.
“Automatics! Dear, dear! And you never had a chance to use them, either! Shows how differently things pan out to our anticipations, doesn't it, inspector? And police whistles? If we were only to sound one how the scene would change! You did not neglect any precautions, did you, inspector?”
And while the jeering questions went on the grasping yellow fingers were going on too, until the prisoners stood mother naked before their tormentors, their bare limbs bound round and round with cords.
“So now we come to grips,” said the masked man, and this time Steadman thought he caught something faintly familiar, and one question that had troubled him of late was answered for ever. “I hope you'll not be much inconvenienced by this return to a state of nature,” the man on the platform went on. “I fear you may be rather cold, but it is unavoidable under the circumstances, and it will not be for long. Then I feel sure you will neither of you be cold any more. Now, now, inspector!”
For a while John Steadman stood motionless, his short-sighted eyes peering at that yellow-clad figure; the inspector was swearing big strange oaths.
“You do look so funny, you know, inspector”—and this time Steadman could almost have fancied there was a feminine echo in that vile laughter—“and your language is too dreadful. But this outrage, as you call it, had to be. Clothes are so identifiable, as I am sure you have learnt in your wide experience, my dear inspector. But now this conversation, interesting as it is, must end. And I think we must silence that unruly member of yours, inspector!”
The silver bell tinkled sharply. In an instant those soft hands had seized the two men and gags were thrust into their mouths, and tied with cruel roughness. Then bandages were bound over their eyes and rougher, harder hands held their pinioned arms on either side and pulled them sideways.
Steadman felt certain they were being taken out by the door by which they entered, and very carefully his trained legal mind was noting down every slightest indication of the direction in which they were being taken. A farewell laugh came from the platform.
“So this is really good-bye. I trust, I do trust that your poor bare feet may not be hurt by the path along which you have to travel. But in case some injury should be unavoidable let me assure you it will not be for long, that much sooner than you probably anticipate the pain will be over.”