"Keep a stiff upper lip, doctor, for though I can't explain the plan of the campaign I know he can. Your depression just now is not because of yourself but your absent friends."
"It is, for I am sure Luchman considers their case about hopeless; what do you think, Harkins?"
"I believe they are prisoners."
"That is worse than if they were dead."
Harkins turned his head away and whistled softly: he knew his friend was right.
"You have my profoundest sympathy, doctor, and my life is at your service. If we knew where they were, I would lead in a rush that would end in our death or their safety."
These were brave words, but there could be no doubt of their honesty. There was no risk the sportsman would not have eagerly run for the sake of his new friends. The doctor feelingly thanked him, adding that he was confident he would soon be called upon to verify his pledge.
Their eyes had now become accustomed to the twilight of the room, and they saw distinctly.
"What the mischief is that?" asked Harkins, pointing toward the further corner, where a large object with some resemblance to a man was visible.
"We can soon find out," replied the doctor, striding across the apartment.