These thoughts took possession of his mind and were convincing. He no
longer questioned but what he was on the track of crime, yet his thought
at that moment concentrated more vividly on his own personal peril. How
could he escape? What was he about to be confronted with? Nothing around
him afforded inspiration. He was bound helplessly; Sexton had
disappeared, whether dead or a prisoner, he did not know; the walls of
the room exhibited no signs of weakness, while Hobart eyed his every
movement coldly, evidently enjoying his predicament. Apparently the man
comprehended the nature of his thought.

"Perfectly useless, West," he said carelessly. "This place was
constructed for the purpose, and you are not the only one who has tested
its strength. You will get out when I say so, and not before."

"Do you intend to say so?"

"Well, that depends," shrewdly. "Not if your release means my taking
any chances. But frankly, I do not believe it will. So far as I can see
you possess no particular interest in this matter--only the attraction
a young fellow always feels in a pretty woman. Have I got that doped
out right?"

"To an extent at least."

"Yes, to a very large extent. Of course, curiosity also played a part,
while everybody possesses a sneaking desire to do a detective act. Miss
Coolidge filled you up with a lot of bunk; she was good looking, and you
fell for it. Certain things happened that you failed to understand, so
you rather naturally jumped to the conclusion that some crime was being
concocted. That was what brought you here. Now I take it that,