“Lakington again, was it?” said Hugh softly. “Dear Heavens! if I could get one hand on that...” He broke off and laughed. “What about you, Algy?”
“I went blundering in over the way, old bean,” returned that worthy, “and some dam’ fellow knocked my eye-glass off. So, as I couldn’t see to kill him, I had to join the picnic here.”
Hugh laughed, and then suddenly grew serious.
“By the way, you didn’t see a man chewing gum on the horizon, did you, when I made my entrance? Dogrobber suit, and face like a motor-mascot.”
“Thank God, I was spared that!” remarked Algy.
“Good!” returned Hugh. “He’s probably away with it by now, and he’s no fool. For I’m thinking it’s only Peter and him between us and——” He left his remark unfinished, and for a while there was silence. “Jerry is over in France still, putting stamp-paper on his machine; Ted’s gone up to see that Potts is taking nourishment.”
“And here we sit like three well-preserved specimens in a bally museum,” broke in Algy, with a rueful laugh. “What’ll they do to us, Hugh?”
But Drummond did not answer, and the speaker, seeing the look on his face, did not press the question.
Slowly the hours dragged on, until the last gleams of daylight had faded from the skylight above, and a solitary electric light, hung centrally, gave the only illumination. Periodically Heinrich had come in to see that they were still secure: but from the sounds of the hoarse laughter which came at frequent intervals through the half-open door, it was evident that the German had found other and more congenial company. At length he appeared carrying a tray with bread and water on it, which he placed on a table near Hugh.
“Food for you, you English swine,” he remarked, looking gloatingly at each in turn. “Herr Lakington the order gave, so that you will fit be to-morrow morning. Fit for the torture.” He thrust his flushed face close to Drummond’s, and then deliberately spat at him.