"You hain't told him what we want?"
"Not a word," Ab. answered. "You can take him in hand. Don't stand any nonsense, either."
"It ain't exactly my way to stand nonsense," growled Driggs, who was a good deal more courageous than Dexter. "As a first step I'll untie his hands. The boy can't make any fight against the two of us."
Instead of untying, however, Driggs opened his clasp knife, and cut the cords at Dick's wrists, after which he untied the big handkerchief that had also been tied there.
"Now, get on your feet, Prescott."
Dick obeyed, taking his time about it. No matter what was about to happen Dick knew that he could take better care of himself standing up.
"Exercise your hands and arms a bit, if you want to," continued Driggs. "You may find that circulation has been stopped."
This Dick knew well enough. As his hands might be of extreme use to him in the very near future he followed the last bit of advice.
"Go get your writing materials," said Driggs, turning to Ab.
Dexter left the room, soon returning with paper, envelopes and a pen thrust down into a bottle of ink.