"Elaine was kidnapped—in the armor," he cried.
. . . . . . . .
He was right. Meanwhile, the armor repairers had stopped at last at this apparently deserted house, a strange sort of repair shop. Still keeping it wrapped in blankets, they had taken the armor out of the wagon and now laid it down on an old broken bed. Then they had unwrapped it and taken off the helmet.
There was Elaine!
She had been stupefied, bound and gagged. Piece after piece of the armor they removed, finding her still only half conscious.
"Sh! What's that?" cautioned one of the men. They paused and listened. Sure enough, there was a sound outside. They opened the window cautiously. A dog was scratching on the door, endeavoring to get in. It was Rusty.
"I think it's her dog," said the man, turning. "We'd better let him in.
Someone might see him."
The other nodded and a moment later the door opened and in ran Rusty.
Straight to Elaine he went, starting to lick her hand.
"Right—her dog," exclaimed the other man, drawing a gun and hastily levelling it at Rusty.
"Don't!" cautioned the first. "It would make too much noise. You'd better choke him!"