“Come on, Annette.”
“Mais me voila.”
The door shut. Tommy heard Conrad say:
“Lock it and give me the key.”
The footsteps died away. Tommy lay petrified with amazement. The object
Annette had thrust into his hand was a small penknife, the blade open. From the
way she had studiously avoided looking at him, and her action with the light, he
came to the conclusion that the room was overlooked. There must be a peep-hole
somewhere in the walls. Remembering how guarded she had always been in her
manner, he saw that he had probably been under observation all the time. Had he
said anything to give himself away? Hardly. He had revealed a wish to escape
and a desire to find Jane Finn, but nothing that could have given a clue to his
own identity. True, his question to Annette had proved that he was personally
unacquainted with Jane Finn, but he had never pretended otherwise. The question
now was, did Annette really know more? Were her denials intended primarily for
the listeners? On that point he could come to no conclusion.
But there was a more vital question that drove out all others. Could he,
bound as he was, manage to cut his bonds? He essayed cautiously to rub the open
blade up and down on the cord that bound his two wrists together. It was an
awkward business, and drew a smothered “Ow” of pain from him as the knife cut
into his wrist. But slowly and doggedly he went on sawing to and fro. He cut the
flesh badly, but at last he felt the cord slacken. With his hands free, the rest
was easy. Five minutes later he stood upright with some difficulty, owing to
the cramp in his limbs. His first care was to bind up his bleeding wrist. Then
he sat on the edge of the bed to think. Conrad had taken the key of the door,
so he could expect little more assistance from Annette. The only outlet from
the room was the door, consequently he would perforce have to wait until the two
men returned to fetch him. But when they did . . . Tommy smiled! Moving with
infinite caution in the dark room, he found and unhooked the famous picture. He
felt an economical pleasure that his first plan would not be wasted. There was
now nothing to do but to wait. He waited.
The night passed slowly. Tommy lived through an eternity of hours, but at
last he heard footsteps. He stood upright, drew a deep breath, and clutched the
picture firmly.
The door opened. A faint light streamed in from outside. Conrad went
straight towards the gas to light it. Tommy deeply regretted that it was he who
had entered first. It would have been pleasant to get even with Conrad. Number
14 followed. As he stepped across the threshold, Tommy brought the picture down
with terrific force on his head. Number 14 went down amidst a stupendous crash
of broken glass. In a minute Tommy had slipped out and pulled to the door. The
key was in the lock. He turned it and withdrew it just as Conrad hurled himself
against the door from the inside with a volley of curses.
For a moment Tommy hesitated. There was the sound of some one stirring on
the floor below. Then the German’s voice came up the stairs.
“Gott im Himmel! Conrad, what is it?”
Tommy felt a small hand thrust into his. Beside him stood Annette. She
pointed up a rickety ladder that apparently led to some attics.
“Quick–up here!” She dragged him after her up the ladder. In another
moment they were standing in a dusty garret littered with lumber. Tommy looked
round.
“This won’t do. It’s a regular trap. There’s no way out.”
“Hush! Wait.” The girl put her finger to her lips. She crept to the top
of the ladder and listened.
The banging and beating on the door was terrific. The German and another
were trying to force the door in. Annette explained in a whisper:
“They will think you are still inside. They cannot hear what Conrad says.
The door is too thick.”