Outside the sounds of the wheels had faded. The train wasn't moving. It seemed to tip at a slight angle, as though leaning on some support.
"My name is Harror," Silver Mask said. "You're not going anywhere for the time being, and while you are here I'll thank you to call me Mr. Harror. Don't try to leave this car. My men are stationed all around the train with orders to shoot and look afterward. Take a look outside in a few minutes. You may be surprised."
He turned and stooped to go through the door.
Blake turned to Ferrell and O'Toole.
"I haven't got the drift of all this yet," he admitted. "But we're in for trouble and plenty of it."
Blake was sitting quietly in the smoker, head reclining on the window ledge, eyes half closed in a cloud of smoke. The girl and her father were asleep. O'Toole pretended to be, but Blake wasn't sure of the Irishman. O'Toole slept with one eye open most of the time.
The deep silence and blackness outside of the window could indicate only one thing. They were in some sort of a cave. The giant Harror had said if they looked out, they might be surprised. Yet, hours had passed, and the place was quiet and black as a tomb.
The door opened and a newspaper flopped on the floor. Blake went forward and picked it up.
"Thought you'd like to see the big news." It was Harror's heavy voice rumbling from the doorway. "Flown in from South Station. We've been waiting to see what reaction the kidnaping of a train might have."