He tested the bonds that held his hands behind him. They seemed tight but not excessively so. Probably his captors had put most of their faith in the chloroform.
With as little apparent exertion as possible, he began to stretch and strain at them. His powerful wrists and hands seemed endowed with double their ordinary strength and to his delight he could feel the cords give.
Moriarty was alone with him, but Joe could hear low voices in an adjoining room. One of them he thought he recognized as Fleming’s, and his teeth gritted with rage.
At last he wriggled one hand free, although he had rasped his wrist till he felt it was bleeding. A moment more and he had freed his other hand, though he still kept both behind him.
Moriarty was yawning after his night’s vigil.
“What time is it now?” Joe muttered sleepily.
“Just a little after eight,” Moriarty answered. “The train’s just about started now, but we’ll let you cool your heels here for another hour or so. Then you can walk the ties if you want to.”
“You’ve got me pretty well trussed up here,” said Joe. “The fellow who tied these knots knew his business.”
“Yes,” said Moriarty, complacently, strolling over to look at them. “He’s a dandy when it comes to doing——”