Presently the car slackened its pace and drew up.
“Just a minute,” said the pseudo Duke. He twisted a handkerchief deftly into Tommy’s mouth, and drew up his scarf over it.
“In case you should be foolish enough to think of calling for help,” he explained suavely.
The door of the car opened and the chauffeur stood ready. He and his master took Tommy between them and propelled him rapidly up some steps and in at the door of a house.
The door closed behind them. There was a rich oriental smell in the air. Tommy’s feet sank deep into velvet pile. He was propelled in the same fashion up a flight of stairs and into a room which he judged to be at the back of the house. Here the two men bound his hands together. The chauffeur went out again, and the other removed the gag.
“You may speak freely now,” he announced pleasantly. “What have you to say for yourself, young man?”
Tommy cleared his throat and eased the aching corners of his mouth.
“I hope you haven’t lost my hollow cane,” he said mildly. “It cost me a lot to have that made.”
“You have nerve,” said the other, after a minute’s pause. “Or else you are just a fool. Don’t you understand that I have got you—got you in the hollow of my hand? That you’re absolutely in my power? That no one who knows you is ever likely to see you again?”
“Can’t we cut out the melodrama?” asked Tommy plaintively. “Have I got to say ‘You villain, I’ll foil you yet?’ That sort of thing is so very much out of date.”