“Where you goin’, Clan?” inquired Billy, with some anxiety.
He had shoved Carson into the tonneau and followed him, still grasping his arm.
“Well,” said Clancy, with a wink that Bully did not catch, “I think we’d better take him to that deserted house you pointed out, as we came into town. Then we can torture him until he confesses.”
“Fine!” grinned Billy. “We’ll do some fancy branding on him, and if that don’t work, we can hang him up by the thumbs and roast his feet, eh?”
Unfortunately, perhaps, he overdid the matter. Carson’s evil conscience had turned him into an arrant coward, but it had not destroyed his judgment by any means. He perceived that the two were trying to frighten him, and he relapsed into a sullen silence.
“You’d better tell us where Merry is,” stated Clancy, turning to look into the heavy, surly features. “I’ll warn you, Bully, that we’re not inclined to show you any mercy.”
“Go to thunder!” growled the captive, and followed it with a string of curses. Clancy flushed angrily and threw in the clutch.
“All right, my friend,” he grated. “You’ll get yours!”
Ten minutes later they drew up at the deserted house outside town. Clancy drove around to the side, installed the machine in the half-ruined barn, and reconnoitered the house. A door was swinging on its hinges, but the place in general was in tolerable condition. He returned to the barn and took out his handkerchief.
“Put his wrists together,” he ordered.