mysterious Jane Finn also. After that—-”
After that Tommy was forced to admit the prospect looked dreary.
CHAPTER XVII
ANNETTE
THE troubles of the future, however, soon faded before the troubles of the
present. And of these, the most immediate and pressing was that of hunger.
Tommy had a healthy and vigorous appetite. The steak and chips partaken of for
lunch seemed now to belong to another decade. He regretfully recognized the
fact that he would not make a success of a hunger strike.
He prowled aimlessly about his prison. Once or twice he discarded dignity,
and pounded on the door. But nobody answered the summons.
“Hang it all!” said Tommy indignantly. “They can’t mean to starve me to
death.” A new-born fear passed through his mind that this might, perhaps, be
one of those “pretty ways” of making a prisoner speak, which had been attributed
to Boris. But on reflection he dismissed the idea.
“It’s that sour faced brute Conrad,” he decided. “That’s a fellow I shall
enjoy getting even with one of these days. This is just a bit of spite on his
part. I’m certain of it.”
Further meditations induced in him the feeling that it would be extremely
pleasant to bring something down with a whack on Conrad’s egg-shaped head. Tommy
stroked his own head tenderly, and gave himself up to the pleasures of
imagination. Finally a bright idea flashed across his brain. Why not convert
imagination into reality? Conrad was undoubtedly the tenant of the house. The
others, with the possible exception of the bearded German, merely used it as a
rendezvous. Therefore, why not wait in ambush for Conrad behind the door, and
when he entered bring down a chair, or one of the decrepit pictures, smartly on
to his head. One would, of course, be careful not to hit too hard. And
then–and then, simply walk out! If he met anyone on the way down,
well—-Tommy brightened at the thought of an encounter with his fists. Such an
affair was infinitely more in his line than the verbal encounter of this
afternoon. Intoxicated by his plan, Tommy gently unhooked the picture of the
Devil and Faust, and settled himself in position. His hopes were high. The plan
seemed to him simple but excellent.
Time went on, but Conrad did not appear. Night and day were the same in
this prison room, but Tommy’s wrist-watch, which enjoyed a certain degree of
accuracy, informed him that it was nine o’clock in the evening. Tommy reflected
gloomily that if supper did not arrive soon it would be a question of waiting
for breakfast. At ten o’clock hope deserted him, and he flung himself on the
bed to seek consolation in sleep. In five minutes his woes were forgotten.
The sound of the key turning in the lock awoke him from his slumbers. Not
belonging to the type of hero who is famous for awaking in full possession of
his faculties, Tommy merely blinked at the ceiling and wondered vaguely where he
was. Then he remembered, and looked at his watch. It was eight o’clock.
“It’s either early morning tea or breakfast,” deduced the young man, “and
pray God it’s the latter!”
The door swung open. Too late, Tommy remembered his scheme of obliterating
the unprepossessing Conrad. A moment later he was glad that he had, for it was
not Conrad who entered, but a girl. She carried a tray which she set down on the
table.
In the feeble light of the gas burner Tommy blinked at her. He decided at
once that she was one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. Her hair was
a full rich brown, with sudden glints of gold in it as though there were
imprisoned sunbeams struggling in its depths. There was a wild-rose quality
about her face. Her eyes, set wide apart, were hazel, a golden hazel that again
recalled a memory of sunbeams.
A delirious thought shot through Tommy’s mind.
“Are you Jane Finn?” he asked breathlessly.
The girl shook her head wonderingly.
“My name is Annette, monsieur.”
She spoke in a soft, broken English.
“Oh!” said Tommy, rather taken aback. “Francaise?” he hazarded.
“Oui, monsieur. Monsieur parle francais?”