“We’re going to put you on your oath now,” announced the leader. “We’re going to make you swear by all things sacred, by all you hold dear, that you’ll never tell under what circumstances you affixed your signature to that document.”
“Oh, you make me sick, the whole of you!” said the little chap. “I’ll never swear to anything of the sort.”
“His feet are getting cold again,” snickered the clown.
“Go ahead and warm them up,” directed Satan.
Tommy squirmed and twisted and yelled at the top of his voice. In the midst of his struggles the basement door was hurled open with a bang, and, shouting loudly, a dozen boys, headed by Dick Merriwell, came rushing to the rescue.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE FIRE.
“This way! this way!” shouted the clear voice of Merriwell. “Here they are!”
Instantly Tucker was released by the startled and dismayed fellows who had been torturing him. The flaring light of a “slut” candle, aided by the dimly flickering gas jet, showed the rescuers a most remarkable group huddled there in the basement of that old warehouse. The clown looked frightened; the bear seemed ready to run; the Turk was crouching on one knee and feeling blindly for his curved sword; the executioner had dropped his broad-bladed ax; the owl sought to edge away into the shadows.
Only Satan stood his ground boldly and defiantly. In front of them all he stood with clenched fists, glaring at the unexpected and unwelcome rescuers. The flaring lights made him look very fierce and demon-like. Involuntarily the rescuers halted and stared at that remarkable group.
“Come on!” yelled Tucker, giving the Turk a savage jab in the ribs and upsetting the clown by kicking his feet from beneath him. “Get into ’em, fellows! Give ’em fits! They’ve been giving me fits.”