“How do you feel, now?” questioned the mustached man.
Harry did not reply.
“I’m going to give you a chance to talk,” came the next statement. “I’ve asked you a few questions before; but you haven’t chosen to answer. That won’t do you any good.”
Harry was still silent.
“Who are you?” came the question.
“Who are you?” asked Harry, tersely. “It seems to me I’m the injured party. I won’t talk until you do.”
The stranger laughed unpleasantly.
“I’ll tell you enough for your own good,” he said. “I saw you once before — hanging around the farmhouse. I saw you come out from the side. You had a car down the road — hidden in the field. I walked by in the dark. I was too late to get you.
“So I didn’t take any chances two nights ago. I nabbed you quick. I brought you here, and we’re way out in the woods — alone. Your position isn’t a comfortable one, is it?”
“No,” admitted Harry.