Page:The Whisper on the Stair by Lyon Mearson (1924).djvu/163

 for him to discover that he would not be able to undo his bonds. The cords were on for keeps, and Val imagined that they would stay on until somebody took them off. He was helpless on the couch, with his hands bound behind his back and his feet closely tied. There was no hope there.

As time dragged on he grew thirstier and thirstier. His tongue and throat began to feel furry, and though he would have enjoyed breakfast, yet would he have appreciated a drink still more. Perhaps the guard in the next room—

“Hey, Rat,” he called.

The big form of the tough bulked in the doorway.

“Whatcher want?” he growled at Val.

“I’m awfully thirsty—would you be good enough to get me a glass of water?” Perhaps the guard had not been told that he was to receive no sustenance of any sort.

“Better make it champagne, young fellow,” suggested Rat with heavy sarcasm. “You got just as much chanct of gettin’ dat, see!” He spread his right hand flat, indicating that the interview, insofar as he was concerned, was finished.

“It might be worth your while. Rat,” insinuated Val. “I’m not mentioning any names, but if anybody around here gives me a helping hand so that I can get out, why, that man won’t have to do any work for the rest of the year.” He looked at Rat significantly.

It did not work. The other shook his head vigorously.

“I don’t never work, anyway,” he growled. “An’ don’t run away wit’ no idea that anybody around here’ll give you a lift. Me, I’d like to bump you off, myself, after that there bash on th’ dome you gimme