“Yes, but why have I been brought here and where am I anyhow?”
There was no answer and Jack suddenly became aware that he was alone.
He had not been bound and now he arose, felt in his pockets and presently produced matches, not having carried his pocket flashlight with him.
He struck a match and looked around him, finding that he was in a roughly finished room like a shop or a workman’s shack, with two barred windows on one side and a closed door opposite, there being a straight ladder reaching to some place above, probably the sleeping quarters of the men who worked here.
This much he saw before the match burned out, seeing no one and hearing not a sound.
He tried the door and found it locked, the shutters of the windows being fastened on the outside for he could not open them.
“It is clear enough that I am a prisoner here,” he mused, “but for what purpose?”
There seemed to be no answer to the question and he gave up trying to find one but sat down and waited for somebody to return.