"Sure it's right. I never was for the strong arm stuff, Hogan. This is my graft, anyhow, and not one of you stiffs gets a penny of it unless I split with you. This fellow isn't going to be slugged—that's flat. It is only because he's fell in love with the Coolidge girl that he is here, and once we've skipped out, I don't wish the guy any bad luck."
"You ought to have caught him yourself, Del," some one said. "The bird never would have known the difference."
She laughed, quickly restored to good humour.
"You're about right there, Dave," she answered. "That was another mistake; the only chance I ever had of marrying in high social circles. But hell, I'll be a lady tomorrow, so let's let the poor devil go. Wrap him up, and lay him away out in the garage. The walls are two foot solid stone; he'll stay buried there all right."
Hogan growled in derision, yet it was evident that she and Hobart would have their way. Some one brought a rope, which was deftly wound about him, West continuing to feign unconsciousness. He secretly hoped this condition might result in some carelessness on their part, in either speech or action. Anyway it would undoubtedly save him from further brutal treatment. He had no reason to suspect that his ruse was questioned. The fellows spoke freely while making him secure, but he gained very little information from their conversation—not a hint as to where Natalie was confined, or how long it was proposed to hold them prisoners. Then "Red" and Dave lugged his limp body through several rooms, out upon a back porch, finally dragging him down the steps and along a cement drive way, letting him lie there a moment in the dark, while one of them unlocked a door. The next instant he was carelessly thrown inside, and the door forced back into place. He could hear Hogan swear outside, and then the sound of both men's feet on the drive as they departed.
With a struggle West managed to sit up, but could scarcely attempt more, as his arms were bound closely to his sides. The darkness about him was intense, and, with the disappearance of the two men up the steps, all outside sounds had ceased. He knew he had been flung into the garage and was resting there on the hard cement floor. He could neither feel nor see any machine, nor was there probably the slightest prospect of his getting out unaided. Those fellows would never have left him there without guard, had they dreamed any escape was possible. The girl had affirmed the building was constructed of stone, two feet thick. He stared around at the impenetrable black wall completely defeated. Undoubtedly they had him this time. He was weak from hunger, tired nearly to death; bruised and battered until it seemed as though every muscle in his body throbbed with pain. Yet his mind was not on these things, only incidentally; his thought, his anxiety centred altogether on Natalie Coolidge. What had become of her; where was she now? He had no reason to believe her in any great personal danger. If this gang, satisfied of success, were disposed to spare his life, it was hardly probable they would demand her's. Now both the desire for murder, and the necessity, had passed. The fellows felt supremely confident the spoils were already theirs, and that all that was needed now to assure complete success was sufficient time in which to drop safely out of sight. Murder would hinder, rather than help this escape.
But what a blind fool he had been; how strangely he had permitted this girl to lead him so easily astray. Why really, to his mind now, she possessed no real resemblance to Natalie; not enough, at least, to deceive the keen eyes of love. She had the features, the eyes, the hair, the voice, a certain trick of speech, which, no doubt, she had cultivated—but there were a thousand things in which she differed. Her laugh was not the same, nor the expression of her lips; she was like a counterfeit beside a good coin. It was easy to conceive how others might be deceived by her tricks of resemblance—servants, ordinary friends, even the old lawyer in charge of the estate—but it was inexcusable for him to have thus become a plaything. Yet he had, and now the mistake was too late to mend. He had left Natalie alone on the cliff, and then blindly permitted this chit to lead him straight into Hobart's set trap. Angered beyond control at the memory, West swore, straining fiercely in the vain endeavour to release his arms. Then, realizing his utter helplessness, he sank back on the floor, and lay still.
What was that? He listened, for an instant doubtful if he had really heard anything. Then he actually heard a sound. He doubted no longer, yet made no effort to move, even holding his breath in suspense. There was movement of some kind back there—a cautious movement; seemingly the slow advance of something across the floor, a dog perhaps. West's heart throbbed with apprehension; suppose it was a dog, he had no means of protection from the brute. Cold sweat tingled on his flesh; there was nothing he could do, no place where he could go. The thing was moving nearer; yet surely it could not be a dog; no dog would ever creep like that. He could bear the strain no longer; it was beyond endurance.
"What's moving back there?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
There was a moment of utter silence; then, a man's voice said in low, cautious tone.