"Yes, sir," Catherwood murmured.
"Now, Mr. Catherwood, while they have told me many things of interest, there is one little detail that seems to me to have a very important bearing upon the case, but which, for some unaccountable reason, they all seem to have missed. Perhaps you can throw some light upon this dark place." The president indulged here in a round, full laugh.
Encouraged by the infinite kindness of this voice, Catherwood lifted his eyes.
"Yes, sir; if I can—what is it?"
"Ah, yes." The president cleared his throat. "Mr. Catherwood," he resumed calmly, twirling the envelope opener between his fingers, "what I wish so very much to know is how you managed to tie your hands behind you!"
"Why I——" Catherwood began, and stopped. He tried to wrench his eyes from those of the president,—calm, blue—but could not. The room whirled. The design in the carpet became the design of the walls and of the ceiling; and there were no windows in the room, or doors—and all was black—black—black, save for two points of light; for there were those calm blue eyes, shining back at his.
And then as though it spoke from some great height he heard the mellow voice in his ears again.
"Go on, Mr. Catherwood," the voice said.
At last he managed to wrench his eyes away and stood up, and strode over to the window and looked out upon the white world. He saw two sparrows poise an instant on the crest of a drift.