“We’ll go, Walker,” he decided. “Dress up. Be sure not to carry any papers.”
Two men came out of one of the inner offices a few minutes later. They would have been taken anywhere for two English servants; they might have been valets, footmen, even butlers. Each one looked the other over critically, but the disguise was thorough.
At fifteen minutes past the hour they reached the Winckel house, knocked at the servants’ entrance. The maid answered and they asked for Mr. Jones. They appeared to be very superior, upper-class servants. Very English, too. She escorted them in and then opened a door for them to enter. They passed through. As they did, each one of them was pounced upon. They struggled against the sickening smell of the chloroform held tightly against their noses. Then they knew nothing more for a while.
An hour later they awoke with a feeling of nausea and the smell of chloroform all about them. They found themselves tied hand and foot and unable to move. From all appearances they seemed to be in the cellar of the house.
“Are you there, chief?” asked Walker, in a sick and very low voice.
“Yes, I’m here; going to stay awhile, I guess.”
“I wonder what happened? Suppose they got on to—?”
“They are probably gloating somewhere within earshot,” Strong warned him in a whisper. “They certainly have us out of the way for the time being,” he added, ruefully.
“Well, there’s nothing to do; we’re caught,” Walker said, in his ordinary voice. Then, in a voice so low Strong could barely hear him, he inquired, “Are you pretty well tied? Can you do anything?”
“Can’t even move,” was the answer.