A flood of questions poured through my mind. What could have happened? Where was Stanley Audley? Was he in the hands of Feng, whom I now looked upon as Humphreys’ fellow conspirator? But, above all, what had I done—what had Thelma done to arouse Humphrey’s diabolical hatred?
Despite the pain I was suffering I made another furious effort to break loose. I strained, till I felt my very wrists must give way, to go to Thelma’s assistance. But I was held in a vise.
Thelma lay white as death. Was she, indeed, dead already at the hands of the bearded fiend who, I now thought, must be a lunatic.
My attention was diverted to Humphreys’ proceedings. I watched him closely, puzzled by what he was doing and utterly unable to comprehend his purpose.
From a cupboard in the room he brought out a tin of petrol. From his pocket he drew a large toy balloon of the kind which enterprising firms use to advertise their goods. It was not inflated, but limp and I remember that even in my bewilderment, I noticed that it was a bright yellow and bore painted upon it the name of a famous West End firm.
Using a small funnel he began very carefully to fill the balloon with petrol. I was surprised at the amount it held. The tin, which had been full, was nearly empty before he had finished.
Then, suddenly, like a flash of lightning, understanding of his horrible purpose burst upon my mind.
“My God!” I gasped, “you surely do not intend to burn us alive.”
“My dear young fellow, you have had every chance to escape, and yet you have refused, because of your silly love for Audley’s wife,” he said in hard, metallic tones. “This house, I may tell you, is ‘to let furnished.’ The board is now hidden in the shrubbery. The dinner served you was provided by a well-known firm of caterers who sent their man, whom I have dismissed. In a few moments this place will be a roaring furnace and a mystery-house to the Fire Brigade of the London County Council.”
Then with diabolical coolness he went on with his preparations.