said the “Duke.” “And now what are we to do with you, Mr. Beresford Blunt?”
“I wish you’d take this confounded eyeshade off me,” said Tommy.
“I think not. With it on, you are truly blind—without it you would see as well as I do—and that would not suit my little plan. For I have a plan. You are fond of sensational fiction, Mr. Blunt. This little game that you and your wife were playing today proves that. Now I too have arranged a little game—something rather ingenious, as I am sure you will admit when I explain it to you.
“You see, this floor on which you are standing is made of metal, and here and there on its surface are little projections. I touch a switch—so.”
A sharp click sounded.
“Now the electric current is switched on. To tread on one of those little knobs now means—death! You understand? If you could see … but you cannot see. You are in the dark. That is the game—Blindman’s Buff with death. If you can reach the door in safety—freedom! But I think that long before you reach it you will have trodden on one of the danger spots. And that will be very amusing—for me!”
He came forward and unbound Tommy’s hands. Then he handed him his cane with a little ironical bow.
“The blind Problemist. Let us see if he will solve this problem. I shall stand here with