Part 26 (2/2)

Craig s.h.i.+vered, drew back a little in his chair, tried to rise and fell back again helpless.

”My G.o.d!” he cried. ”Leave me alone!”

”When you have told me the truth,” Quest answered, swiftly, ”and you will tell me all I want to know in a few moments.... Your eyelids are getting a little heavy, Craig. Don't resist. Something which is like sleep is coming over you. You see my will has yours by the throat.”

Craig seemed suddenly to collapse altogether. He fell over on one side.

Every atom of colour had faded from his cheeks. Quest leaned over him with a frown. The man was in a stupor without a doubt, but it was a physical state of unconsciousness into which he had subsided. He felt his pulse, unb.u.t.toned his coat, and listened for a moment to the beating of his heart. Then he crossed the room, fetched the pitcher of water and dashed some of its contents in Craig's face. In a few moments the man opened his eyes and regained consciousness. His appearance, however, was still ghastly.

”Where am I?” he murmured.

”You are here in my room, at the Servants' Club,” Quest replied. ”You are just about to tell me where I shall find Lenora.”

Craig shook his head. A very weak smile of triumph flickered for a moment at the corners of his lips.

”Your torture chamber trick won't work on me!” he exclaimed. ”You can never--”

The whole gamut of emotions seemed already to have spent themselves in the man's face, but at that moment there was a new element, an element of terrified curiosity in the expression of his eyes as he stared towards the door.

”Is this another trick of yours?” he muttered.

Quest, too, turned his head and sprang instantly to his feet. From underneath the door came a little puff of smoke. There was a queer sense of heat of which both men were simultaneously conscious. Down in the street arose a chorus of warning shouts, increasing momentarily in volume.

Quest threw open the door and closed it again at once.

”The place is on fire,” he announced briefly. ”Pull yourself together, man. We shall have all we can do to get out of this.”

Craig turned to the door but staggered back almost immediately.

”The stairs are going!” he shrieked. ”It is the kitchen that is on fire.

We are cut off! We cannot get down!”

Quest was on his hands and knees, fumbling under his truckle bed. He pulled out a crude form of fire escape, a rough sort of cradle with a rope attached.

”Know how to use this?” he asked Craig quickly. ”Here, catch hold. Put your arms inside this strap.”

”You are going to send me down first?” Craig exclaimed incredulously.

Quest smiled. Then he drew the rope round the table and tied it.

”You would like to have a chance of cutting the rope, wouldn't you, when I was half way down?” he asked grimly. ”Now then, don't waste time. Get on to the window-sill. Don't brake too much. Off you go!”

Yard by yard, swinging a little in the air, Craig made his descent. When he arrived in the street, there were a hundred willing hands to release him. Quest drew up the rope quickly, warned by a roar of anxious voices.

The walls of the room were crumbling. Volumes of smoke were now pouring in underneath the door, and through the yawning fissures of the wall. Little tongues of flame were leaping out dangerously close to the spot where he must pa.s.s. He let fall the slack of the rope and leaned from the window to watch it anxiously. Then he commenced to descend, letting himself down hand over hand, always with one eye upon that length of rope that swung below. Suddenly, as he reached the second floor, a little cry from the crowd warned him of what had happened. Tongues of flame curling out from the blazing building, had caught the rope, which was being burned through not a dozen feet away from him. He descended a little further and paused in mid-air.

A shout from the crowd reached him.

”The cables! Try the cables!”

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