instructions.

"You needn't stay there," Fenwick growled. "If I want you I can call. You
had better go back to your cards again."

The two men disappeared up the stairs, and just for a moment there was
silence in the drawing-room. It was safe for Venner and his companion
now to creep back to the drawing-room door and take a careful note of
what was going on. With the aid of a friendly mirror on the opposite
side of the room, it was possible to see and note everything. The
cripple had fallen into a chair, where he sat huddled in a heap, his
hand to his head, as if some great physical pain racked him. His heavy
breathing was the only sound made, except the steady puffing of
Fenwick's cigar. A fit of anger gripped Venner for the moment; he would
have liked to step in and soundly punish Fenwick for his brutality.
Doubtless the poor crippled frame was racked with the pain caused by the
violence of his late captors.

But under that queer exterior was a fine spirit. Gradually the cripple
ceased to quiver and palpitate; gradually he pulled himself up in his
chair and faced his captor. His face was still deadly white, but it was
hard and set now; there was no sign of fear about him. He leaned forward
and stared Fenwick between the eyes.

"Well, you scoundrel," he said in a clear, cold voice, "I should like to
know the meaning of this. I have heard of and read of some strange
outrages in my time, but to kidnap a man and keep him prisoner in his own
house is to exceed all the bounds of audacity."

"You appear to be annoyed," Fenwick said. "Perhaps you have not already