ex-soldier went down as though struck by a pole-ax. For an instant, he
realized that Sexton was in a fierce struggle; that his assailant stood
poised above him ready to land again if he moved; then consciousness
left him entirely.

He woke up, sitting in a chair, his hands bound to the arms with strips
of cloth. For a moment everything about seemed tinged with yellow, the
various objects in sight vague and shapeless. It hurt him to move his
head, and his mind functioned dully. He could not think, or bring back to
memory a recollection of what had occurred. Yet slowly the mist cleared
and the objects about him assumed natural form. He was in a room of some
size--not the one in which he had been attacked he felt sure--fitted up
with a long table, and a number of chairs. There was no other furniture;
the walls were bare, and only a small rag rug partially covered the
floor. At first he perceived no other occupants; only as, painfully, he
finally twisted his head to the right, his eyes distinguished two men
seated against the wall. The sight of their faces restored instantly his
memory of what had occurred. The Pole rested back, with feet on the table
and eyes closed, but the other--the younger man--was watching him
closely, an unlighted cigar gripped in his teeth.

"So, you've come out of it," the latter said unpleasantly. "I'd begun to
think Mike had handed you a real knock-out that time. Ready to answer a
few questions?"

West, his brain clearing rapidly, sat up straighter in the chair,
determined to play out his part the best he could.

"Perfectly ready," he replied struggling to control his voice. "Only I
should like to know what all this means? Why attack me?"