The door opened to admit Grady. The man spoke to his master, but loud enough for Stuart to hear.
"I found the car," he said. "It's a bad wreck. But there's nobody in it. I guess that hitch-hiker of yours climbed out and started on to Herkimer. It isn't raining anymore, so he'll be all right."
"We can forget about him, then," declared the old man. "Of course, you looked around, didn't you, Grady?"
"All along the road, declared the man. "I saw some footprints going on past our driveway, here, so I reckoned they were his."
"Very well," said the old man
"Mr. Powell is staying here tonight, Grady. He is badly jarred from the accident. He will probably feel better in the morning. Come, we must help him to his room."
Stuart repressed a shudder as Grady lifted him upward. Supported by the murderous menial and the old man, Stuart was conducted up pitch-black stairs. He let his body sag limp, but he was ready to spring at any instant.
There proved to be no occasion for alarm, however. Grady turned on his flashlight to blaze the path, and the three entered a room furnished with two old chairs and a small bed. Here, Grady left, and the old man spoke from the darkness.
"You are tired," he said soothingly, "and I advise you to rest. Sleep well, and we can talk together in the morning."
With these words, the host departed, and Stuart, lying as though oblivious, heard the door close behind him.