He cut the cords which still secured Graham's limbs. Then he looked around him.
"How did they bring you here?" he whispered. "I suppose there is a passage from the restaurant?"
"Up through a trapdoor there," Graham explained, pointing.
Lutchester stood over it and listened intently.
Then he turned around, lifted the glass of brandy from the table, smelt it approvingly, and tasted it.
"Excellent!" he pronounced. "The 1840. Allow me!"
He refilled the glass and handed it to Sandy, who gulped down the contents. The effect was almost instantaneous. In less than a minute he had staggered to his feet.
"Feel strong enough to walk about fifty yards?" Lutchester inquired.
"I'd walk to hell to get out of this place!" was the prompt reply.
Lutchester took his arm, and they passed down the dusty aisle between the worm-eaten and decaying benches and through the outside door, which Lutchester closed and locked behind them. The rush of cold air was like new life to Graham.