The tall, thin man into whose chambers Gwen Griffin had been enticed treated the trembling girl with a certain amount of politeness. Her head reeled. She hardly knew where she was, or what had occurred.
The stipulation he had made, at the instructions left by Jim Jannaway, was that she must remain there in order to meet some person who was desirous of making her acquaintance. He did not say who this person was, but she, on her part, had a dozen times begged him to release her, or at least to telegraph to her father assuring him of her safety.
“My dear girl,” the tall man had answered, “don’t distress yourself. Come, do calm yourself.” And he assisted to raise her to her feet again. “No harm will befall you, I assure you.”
“I—I don’t know you, sir,” she faltered through her tears, “therefore how can I possibly trust you?”
“I can only assure you that I am acting upon instructions. As far as I’m concerned, you might walk out free—only I dare not disobey my orders.”
“You dare not—and you a man!” she cried.
“There are some things that a man such as myself dare not do, miss—pardon me, but I haven’t the pleasure of knowing your name.”
“Griffin—Gwen Griffin is my name,” and she also told him where she lived. Then she asked: “Why have I been brought here?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” was the stranger’s reply. “These are my chambers, and a friend of mine has had the key during my three years’ absence abroad. I returned only this morning to find you locked up in here and a note left for me, giving me instructions to keep you here until a gentleman calls to see you.”
“Ah! that horrid blackguard!” she screamed. “That man who met me, and called himself ‘Captain Wetherton.’ He told me I should find Frank in hiding here.”