"Yes, sir," growled Grady.
Stuart, watching closely, fancied that he saw a sign pass from the brute to the old man.
Stuart gave no sign that he had noticed it. Instead, he adopted new tactics the moment that Grady had gone. In order to avoid further questioning and to sustain temporarily his identity as that of the unknown Powell, he let his head fall upon his hand and feigned a sudden stupor.
"You must be hurt," said the old man, in an apprehensive voice. "Let me see what I can do for you while we are waiting for Grady to return."
He disappeared, and came back with a bottle, from which he poured a small glass of liquid. He tendered it to Stuart, who pretended great effort in drinking it. It tasted like a brandy.
Stuart showed a slight revival; then sank back into his faked weariness. The old man watched him for a time; then went out of the room into darkness beyond.
To Stuart, only one course seemed logical, even though it might mean increasing danger.
Although his mind was working clearly, he was handicapped physically, not only because of his injured leg, but because of other pains that were now racking him.
He might be able to cope with the old man and overpower him, but it would be virtually impossible to escape, for Grady would surely follow him.
Far better, Stuart thought, to rely on ingenuity. The old man had certainly designed death for Powell, whose part Stuart was playing. But now that Stuart was safely in the house, the old man seemed a bit dumfounded, and was evidently figuring a new plan.