Both watchers bowed as Froman entered. The light-haired man did not return the salutation. He advanced and looked coldly toward the prisoner. The huddled man turned a sweat-streaked visage toward the new inquisitor, hoping for relief.
Frederick Froman, captor, was face to face with Marcus Holtmann, captive!
THE anguish on Holtmann’s countenance showed that he had been undergoing some maddening torture.
There was no pity in Froman’s eye. His cold stare held a steely glint. He had the glance of a cruel eagle looking down upon its prey.
Neither man spoke. Holtmann, tight in the gripping pressure of the straitjacket, emitted a hopeless gasp.
That was the only sign that passed between the two.
Froman, however, turned to one of his formidable henchmen. He made a motion with his hands. The man leaned over Holtmann’s body, and adjusted the binding straps at the back of the jacket. Relieved, Holtmann sank back with a sigh.
Another sign from Froman. The three henchmen — for Froman’s conductor had entered with him — filed from the gloomy dungeon. The barrier dropped behind them. Froman was alone with his victim.
It was obvious from Holtmann’s wheedling stare that the prisoner had some inkling of why he had been brought here. Yet his pain-touched face showed a glimmer of defiance as he waited for Froman to speak.
The captor’s first expression was a contemptuous laugh. Froman seemed to enjoy Holtmann’s plight. At last, after a final survey of his prisoner, he spoke.