CHAPTER XVII
THE CAPTURE
Promptly next morning at the designated hour, came the little note
promised me by Mr. Gryce. It was put in my hand with many sly winks
by the landlady herself, who developed at this crisis quite an
adaptation for, if not absolute love of intrigue and mystery. Glancing
over it--it was unsealed--and finding it entirely unintelligible, I
took it for granted it was all right and put it by till chance, or if
that failed, strategy, should give me an opportunity to communicate
with Mrs. Blake. An hour passed; the doors of their rooms remained
unclosed. A half hour more dragged its slow minutes away, and no sound
had come from their precincts save now and then a mumbled word of
parley between the father and son, a short command to the daughter,
or a not-to-be-restrained oath of annoyance from one or both of the
heavy-limbed brutes as something was said or done to disturb them in
their indolent repose. At last my impatience was to be no longer
restrained. Rising, I took a bold resolution. If the mountain would
not come to Mahomet, Mahomet would go to the mountain. Taking my
letter in the hand, I deliberately proceeded to the door marked with
the ominous red cross and knocked.
A surprised snarl from within, followed by a sudden shuffling of feet
as the two men leaped upright from what I presume had been a recumbent
position, warned me to be ready to face defiance if not the fury of
despair; and curbing with a determined effort the slight sinking of
heart natural to a man of my make on the threshold of a very doubtful
adventure, I awaited with as much apparent unconcern as possible, the
quick advance of that light foot which seemed to be ready to perform
all the biddings of these hardened wretches, much as it shrunk from
following in the ways of their infamy.
Pages:
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188