“Me no run off,” replied the man, cowering with fear. Probably his meekness was pretense with a view of gaining an advantage over his captor.
“Where is that little girl you stole from her home in Philadelphia?”
The prisoner shrugged his shoulders and shook his head:
“Me no understand.”
“Yes, you do; answer before I fire!”
And the weapon was leveled with the muzzle within a few inches of the man’s face, which was contorted by terror.
“Don’t know,” he hastened to say.
Detective Pendar was enraged enough to shoot him. With a dreadful sinking of hope the officer asked himself whether there was to be a miscarriage of justice after all. Grace Hastings was neither within the shanty nor anywhere near it when Professor Morgan blew it up with his bomb. Could it be that the abductors had discovered their danger before that time and removed the little one to a safe retreat, or could it be——
He dared not finish the question. One thing was clear: the negotiations that had been carried on for so many days were now ended, and could never be renewed. The friends of the child had proved their determination not to pay the ransom demanded, and no more communication could be held between them and the kidnappers.
Humanity seemed to demand that attention should be given to him who was hurled among the trees in the rear by the explosion; but in the intensity of his chagrin and wrath, Detective Pendar decided that, as he was already past help, time would be wasted upon him. Although the garments of the prisoner showed faint wisps of smoke here and there, the fire was gradually dying out and he was in no danger from that cause. His captor compressed his lips with the resolution to force the truth from the wretch. Surely he could throw light upon the disappearance of the child, and the detective was resolute in his purpose of forcing him to do so.