Chapter VI — A Fiendish Crime
The room was pitch-black when Stuart Bruxton awoke. He recalled that he had been sleeping fitfully. Two or three times he had half awakened, fancying that he heard sounds near his door. The sounds had ceased on each occasion, when Stuart had uttered drowsy growls. Now, for the first time, he began to realize where he was.
A peculiar sensation gripped the back of his head. In the midst of chaotic recollections, Stuart remembered the drink that the old man had given him.
It must have been doped — probably a powder in the glass. The old man had turned his back when he had poured the drink.
The direct cause of Stuart's awakening had been his injured leg. It was twisted beneath him in a painful manner. He tried to stand up, and found that he was barely capable of the effort, due to stiffness. He felt for his coat, which he had thrown over a chair. He found his watch and a box of matches. He lighted a match and saw that the time was midnight.
The throbbing in his head continued, but Stuart, despite his weakness, felt the need of action. He looked about the room, lighting a few matches, and managed to make a careful inspection of the iron shutter. No escape from the window he decided. The shutter was barred from the outside. The door offered no encouragement. It was a huge barrier, that might have belonged in a medieval castle. Stuart found one of the chairs, and realized that its frailness rendered it useless as a battering ram against that door.
He listened, hoping to hear some sound. Even the faint whispers of the storm would have been gladdening, but the storm was evidently ended long ago.
Stuart wondered why his life had been spared until this hour. He remembered those noises outside the door. Perhaps they had been afraid to attack.
The only answer that seemed logical was that the old man might be alone in the house.
Perhaps Grady had gone on some errand.