the wall, and reaching up turned on the gas.

I was much too dazed to do anything, even if I had had the chance. I
just stood there with my hands up, rocking slightly from side to side,
and wondering how long it would be before I tumbled over.

My captor remained for a moment under the light, peering at me in
silence. He seemed to be a man of about sixty--a thin, frail man
with white hair and a sharp, deeply lined face. He wore gold-rimmed
pince-nez, behind which a pair of hard grey eyes gleamed at me in
malicious amusement.

At last he took a step forward, still holding the revolver in his
hand.

"A stranger!" he observed. "Dear me--what a disappointment! I hope Mr.
Latimer is not ill?"

I had no idea what he was talking about, but his voice sounded very
far away.

"If you keep me standing like this much longer," I managed to jerk
out, "I shall most certainly faint."

I saw him raise his eyebrows in a sort of half-mocking smile.

"Indeed," he said, "I thought--"

What he thought I never heard, for the whole room suddenly went dim,
and with a quick lurch the floor seemed to get up and spin round