drel’s wrist towards him, and then he remembered no more. It was plain, therefore, that Teck’s arm had found his mark.
Yet how could a man without hands knock him out? He puzzled about this for a little while, and then, his head aching, he had to give it up. For the matter of that, how could a man without hands beat out the brains of poor old Mat Masterson? He couldn’t.
That was where Val ended in his thought about Teck. The man couldn’t do it, of course. But he had done it.
Next to him the candle burned fitfully, almost going out, often, at the sudden draughts from the windows, lighting up the ceiling in quick light and extinguishing it in swift darkness as it leaped and fell. The rain increased in intensity, and there was the rolling and reverberating of distant thunder. Val glanced toward the door and saw that it was closed—locked probably. Though that was unnecessary, as the open window was before him, with neither pane nor sash.
The rain swirled into the room through the window viciously. Val could actually hear the intense silence that had settled down upon the house over the noise of the storm. The noise was external; inside it was still as the grave. He shuddered. He did not like to think about graves at this time and in this place. He cursed his stupidity again in not having had sense enough to bring Eddie Hughes along on this trip.
Perhaps Eddie, being alarmed at his absence, would follow along. That led to another train of thought. Eddie, too, might fall into the hands of the enemy, unawares. Given a moment to draw his gun, or room for a left hook, and Eddie would be able to take care
