‘I see I must take my coat off to you,’ he said, and he almost smiled. Then, with a quick movement, he threw the coat over Miss Spencer’s head and flew at her, seizing both her arms, while Prince Aribert assisted.
Her struggles ceased—she was beaten.
‘That’s all right,’ said Racksole: ‘I could never have used that revolver—to mean business with it, of course.’
They carried her, unresisting, upstairs and on to the upper floor, where they locked her in a bedroom. She lay in the bed as if exhausted.
‘Now for my poor Eugen,’ said Prince Aribert.
‘Don’t you think we’d better search the house first?’ Racksole suggested; ‘it will be safer to know just how we stand. We can’t afford any ambushes or things of that kind, you know.’
The Prince agreed, and they searched the house from top to bottom, but found no one. Then, having locked the front door and the french window of the sitting-room, they proceeded again to the cellar.
Here a new obstacle confronted them. The cellar door was, of course, locked; there was no sign of a key, and it appeared to be a heavy door. They were compelled to return to the bedroom where Miss Spencer was incarcerated, in order to demand the key of the cellar from her. She still lay without movement on the bed.
‘Tom’s got it,’ she replied, faintly, to their question: ‘Tom’s got it, I swear to you. He took it for safety.’
‘Then how do you feed your prisoner?’ Racksole asked sharply.