The Mouse Walks In
Not often in a lifetime does a man stand on the edge of eternity, but when I spoke those words in that East End cellar I was perfectly certain that they were my last words on earth. I braced myself for the shock of those black, rushing waters beneath, and experienced in advance the horror of that breath-choking fall.
But to my surprise a low laugh fell on my ears. I opened my eyes. Obeying a sign from the man on the divan, my two jailers brought me back to my old seat facing him.
“You are a brave man. Captain Hastings,” he said. “We of the East appreciate bravery. I may say that I expected you to act as you have done. That brings us to the appointed second act of your little drama. Death for yourself you have faced—will you face death for another?”
“What do you mean?” I asked hoarsely, a horrible fear creeping over me.
“Surely you have not forgotten the lady who is in our power—the Rose of the Garden.”
I stared at him in dumb agony.
“I think, Captain Hastings, that you will write that letter. See, I have a cable form here. The message I shall write on it depends on you, and means life or death for your wife.”
The sweat broke out on my brow. My tormentor continued, smiling amiably, and speaking with perfect sangfroid: