Men came for him, blindfolded him and heaved him onto a stretcher. He felt the open air on his face. His bearers walked on planks and then on sand for a little way, and finally down half a dozen steps. A door slammed. He was dumped out on a cement floor. Soon the door opened again and the men moved in once more. He heard Eleanor murmur as she was tipped onto the concrete, and he heard the heavy door shut again. He tried to communicate with her as he had before, and was frightened because he got no response. She had probably fainted.
Nearby, in an adjoining room or cell, he heard steps, grunts, thumpings, as men moved objects about. A sick stretch of time went by and then the door came open, clanged shut. Hands ripped his blindfold away. He saw plain chairs, bare tables, two kerosene lamps, four men including Stanton, Eleanor’s form on the floor and four bare walls. An underground storage room on the island, probably camouflaged above, Duff thought. “
Start with the girl,” Stanton said to his men. “She’s out,” he added, after shaking her.
“Or pretending.” He gave her a terrific slap — a slap that knotted Duffs nerves. “Out,” he said.
“Open up the case. Get the ammonia.”
One of the men fiddled in a case that Duff could not see. He smelled ammonia.
Eleanor muttered.
Someone took the gag from Duffs mouth. He worked his jaws and tried to lick his lips with a dry, numb tongue.
Stanton came to him, stood over him, suddenly kicked him. “All right. Start talking.
From the beginning, and tell everything you know. The first run through it, we won’t hurt you — unless you hold out.”