"Much obliged, are you?"
"Yes; a kick from you is an honor. Only a handshake or a compliment would hurt."
Dexter's face showed his wrath. He would have retorted, but he felt his helplessness in a battle of wits alone against Dick Prescott.
For a moment or two Ab. left the room. Dick began immediately to test the security of the cords at his wrists. He found himself only too well tied. Dick glanced searchingly about, intent on finding something that promised help or escape.
But Ab. came back, carrying an oil heater and a book. Placing the lighted heater beside the table Dexter sat down and opened the book.
"I knew you had cold feet," laughed Dick. "I've been waiting for you to seek some way of warming up."
Ab. scowled, but went on reading his book. This time the silence was an extremely long one. It was not broken, in fact, until Dick had lost all track of time, and knew only that there was still some daylight left. At last a whistle sounded outside.
Dropping the book, Dexter made his way out into the hall, and thence downstairs. Again Dick began to tug at the cords around his wrists. Then Dexter came into the room, followed by Driggs.
"Well," asked Driggs, "has the young cub come to his senses yet?"
"I haven't tried him," responded Ab. sourly. "You can take him in hand if you want, Driggs."