He recovers himself and sits up, a trifle bruised, but not otherwise injured through his rough treatment.
This is a nice predicament, to be shut up in a house of Valetta, while, perhaps, Philander Sharpe returns to the hotel with a story of his succumbing to the wiles of a beautiful enchantress.
The steamer will sail without him, and the duse must be to pay generally.
John begins, like a man, to wonder if he can do anything for himself; that spirit so distinctive, so Chicago like, will not allow him to sit down and repine.
Surrounded by gloom, how will he find out the nature of his prison?
He endeavors to penetrate the darkness—a trace of light finds an entrance under the door and relieves the somber blank. It does more, for all at once John's eyes discover something that rivets his attention.
There are two of them—eyes that gleam in the darkness like those of a great cat.
A thrill sweeps over the doctor; can it be possible they have shut him in here with some great fierce animal that will tear him limb from limb? Is this Pauline Potter's dramatic revenge?
Who can blame him for a sudden quaking in the region of his heart—such a fate is too terrible to calmly contemplate; but this qualm is only momentary, and then Doctor Chicago is himself again, brave and self-reliant.