“Are you ready to answer my question now?”
The sound of the voice quieted Featherweight’s nerves, and after a moment’s hesitation he stepped into the locker and lowered his lantern so that he could obtain a fair view of the face. “It can’t be possible that this—Chase, what in the name of wonder are you doing in this hole?” he asked, as soon as he had satisfied himself as to the identity of the occupant of the locker.
“Fred Craven!” cried the prisoner, in great amazement. “Well, I am beaten, now. I am taken all aback.”
“So am I,” replied Featherweight. “What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t know that you were one of these fellows.”
“What fellows?”
“I should be glad if you would bring me a mouthful to eat, for I am almost famished,” continued Chase, without answering Featherweight’s question. “But first I want to know why you brought me here, and what you intend to do with me?”
“I!” Featherweight almost shouted; “what did I have to do with bringing you here?”
“Well, you know something about it, don’t you?”
“I!” repeated Featherweight, growing more and more bewildered. “Boy, you’re crazy. Why don’t you get up and come out from behind that coil of rope?”