“Don’t move!” warned the Voice from the dark. “You can light up the lamp now, Frank.”
The man at Jake’s back felt his way a few yards to the left. The sound of a match scratched on the sole of a shoe came to Jake’s ear; a tiny yellow flame blossomed, was held to the wick of an oil-lamp. The man called Frank replaced the glass chimney of the lamp, and stepped back to his post by the door.
“Sit down, bud. You must be tired.”
Jake Utway stared across at the speaker. His new enemy sat in an armchair by a dead fireplace, calmly smoking a cigar and smiling easily.
“You’re Jake, aren’t you?” he went on. “You look so much like your brother that I feel I know you already. But no tricks, mind!” he chuckled. “That brother of yours has fooled us enough for one day—throwing the keys of the car away, just when he saw his chance to help you.”
Never taking his eyes from the smiling man, Jake sank into a chair.
“That’s right! We’ll be heading back in a few minutes; might as well get your breath before we go. Now, Jake, you can tell me just exactly what you expected to do here at this lodge.”
“Who are you, sir?” Jake countered.
“I suppose you didn’t see me in the car when we stopped your covered wagon up the road. I happen to be warden of the Elmville Penitentiary—your friend Burk escaped from my charge, and naturally I wanted to get him back again.”
“How is he—Burk?”