Patsy Garvan, however, had no such inclination even for a moment.
CHAPTER VIII.
PATSY’S CLEVER WORK.
Gridley led the way into a large, square room. Like the exterior of the grim stone house, it bore all the earmarks of antiquity. Great beams crossed the faded ceiling. The discolored walls were partly wainscoted. A smoldering log burned in a huge stone fireplace.
The furnishings in the room were old and threadbare. An oil chandelier lighted the scene. It was suspended above a table, on which were several newspapers and a few old books, also a telephone—the only modern fixture in the room.
Kate Crandall was seated on an old sofa, still bound and gagged, and in charge of Blink Morgan, but, apparently, nerved to meet whatever might follow.
“Sit down, Dolan, till I am ready to talk with you,” Gridley commanded, when all hands had entered the room. “Now, Turk, out with the whole business. Where did you pick him up and why?”
“I’ll tell you where and why he——” Patsy began.
“You keep quiet,” Gridley sharply interrupted. “You’ll have your say, Dolan, when the time comes. Sit down and close your trap till you’re asked to open it.”
“Sure thing, if that’s the way you feel about it,” Patsy coolly acquiesced.
He saw plainly that Gridley not only was the leader of the gang, but, also, that he ruled with a rod of iron. He realized, too, that he might not be able to blind Gridley as successfully as he had fooled Magill, and Patsy immediately set about casting an anchor to the windward.