angry to think that he was a prisoner and at his captors' mercy.
"This must be the work of Merwell and Jasniff," he thought. "They simply hired the doctor to get me here. There is nothing in the story of documents, letters, and photographs. What a fool I was to walk into the trap!"
And then he wondered when his captors would return, and what they proposed to do with him.
For fully a quarter of an hour Dave waited, straining his ears to catch every sound. From below came a murmur of voices, but what was said he could not learn. Once he thought he recognized Jasniff's rough tones, but he was not sure.
Tired of sitting on the edge of the bed, Dave got up and tried to move around. Then he made the discovery that his ankles were tied to a rope that was secured to the bed, and that the latter was stationary.
"I'm a prisoner, and no mistake," he reasoned, grimly. "I wonder how long they intend to keep me here?"
The room was cold, and he was glad that he had his overcoat on. His cap had fallen off inside the bag, but his thick hair and the bag prevented his catching cold in the head.
"Guess I'll wake them up a bit," he thought, and so commenced to stamp on the floor. Then he stamped louder, until he felt he must be knock-
