. . is . . . caught. . . ." There was a pause there.
"In God's name, how is he doing it?" Brent questioned himself, while
inside, bound to his chair, with cuffed wrists, Halloway went on
sending--rapping with a pipe stem between parted rows of strong teeth.
"She is held . . . in mine-shaft . . . back of Gap. . . ."
The pressure of concentrating on that faint, but infinitely important
sound, and the need of maintaining a semblance of weary dullness was
trying Brent's soul. He thanked Heaven for the taciturnity of his
companions.
"Get there . . . with all men possible . . . as for me----"
Brent came suddenly and noisily to his feet for just then the operator
appeared in the doorway and it would not do for these sounds to
continue after his coming.
"Well, here comes the man I've been waiting for," he announced loudly,
and once more the clatter in the baggage-room became the random of rats
at play. "I wanted to ask you if you had any message for William
Brent, from a man named Halloway," he inquired, still speaking as if
against the wind, and, receiving a brief negative, he turned toward the
outer door.
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