had written the past twelvemonth, but nothing recurred to me which
would make me liable to arrest. But, then, I had not been arrested. I
had been kidnapped, nothing less. Nothing had been asked of me; I had
made no statement. It had been all too sudden. Presently I heard
footsteps in the corridor, and the door opened. It was mine enemy. He
locked the door and thrust the key into his pocket. One of his eyes
was decidedly mouse-colored. The knuckles of my hand were yet sore. I
smiled; he saw the smile, his jaws hardening and his eyes threatening.

"I am sorry," I said. "I should have hit you on the point of your
chin; but I was in a great hurry. Did you ever try raw meat as a
poultice?"

"Enough of this," he snapped, laying a pistol on the table. I was
considered dangerous; it was something to know that. "You must answer
my questions."

"Must?"

"Must."

"Young man you have no tact. You are not an accomplished villain,"
said I, pleasantly. "You should begin by asking me how I spent the
night, and if there was not something you could do for my material
comfort. Perhaps, however, you will first answer a few questions of
mine?"

"There are only two men whose questions I answer," he said.

"And who might they be?"