Uneasily the Insurgents crept into the depths behind Pell and Major Dallard. Pell himself was worried. The entire warren above had been combed unsuccessfully for Gutridge and Gret Helmuth. The gnawing fear that had tormented Pell burst out more powerfully. Suppose Gutridge had taken Gret into these depths and was holding her as a hostage? Pell shrugged grimly to himself and strained his eyes to pierce the gloom.
Suddenly the heavy silence that shrouded the place was broken by the crackling of static and the sound of a well-known voice originating from a speaker almost above Pell's head. It was Gutridge!
"I see you've discovered my hiding place, Pell," boomed Gutridge, his voice reverberating in the tomb-like passages.
"I'm entertaining a guest," Gutridge continued. "I believe she is a friend of yours. You wouldn't want anything to happen to her, would you, Pell?" His laughter made the passage vibrate.
"Pell!" thundered the speaker, "I want a guarantee of freedom. In return, I will deliver the girl unharmed. This is a two-way speaker, so you may reply into it."
"How do I know she is alive?" Pell stalled desperately.
"You may speak to her," Gutridge answered. "Say a few words to the gentleman, my dear."
"Pell!" Gret screamed over the speaker, "this whole place is mined. Get out before he kills you all!"
Pell heard distinctly the sound of a meaty fist colliding with flesh and bone, followed by Gutridge's muttering voice, "You talk too much, my dear."
Rage—blind, helpless, unreasoning rage washed over Pell in prickly waves. Then Gutridge spoke again.