Detective and mystery stories; Disappeared persons -- Fiction; Smuggling -- Fiction; Women journalists -- Fiction
“Er--I have read of such things,” he said. He grasped the sock by the
top and whirled it about his head. “Mechanics,” said he, “teach us that
a blow delivered with such an implement is many times more efficacious
than a blow delivered with the--er--solid object held directly in the
hand....”
CHAPTER XXV
“I have come to the conclusion,” said Evan Pell, “that every man, no
matter what his vocation, should be a man of action. That is to say, he
should devote some attention and practice to those muscular and mental
activities which will serve him should some unexpected emergency arise.”
“Yes,” said Carmel.... “Yes.”
“I find myself with little or no equipment for strenuous adventure.
This, we must admit, proves itself to be a serious oversight.”
“Do you know how long we have been shut in this room?” Carmel demanded.
“I do. You were--er--propelled into this place at approximately
ten-thirty last night. It is now five o’clock to-day. Eighteen hours
and a half.”
“Nothing has happened--nothing!... We’ve been fed like animals in a
zoo.... I dozed fitfully during the night. We’ve talked and talked, and
waited--waited.... This waiting! Evan, I--it’s the waiting which is so
terrible.”
“There are,” said Evan, with self-accusation in his voice, “men who
would escape from this place. They would do it with seeming ease.
Undoubtedly there is a certain technique, but I do not possess it.
I--er--on an occasion I attended a showing of motion pictures.
There was an individual who--without the least apparent difficulty,
accomplished things to which escape from this room would be mere
child’s play.”
“To-night,” said Carmel, “the sheriff will come to this hotel, and find
us here.”
“What must you think of me?” Evan said, desperately. He turned in his
chair and stared through the window toward the woods which surrounded
the hotel upon three sides, his shoulders drooping with humiliation.
Carmel was at his side in an instant, her hands upon his shoulders.
“Evan!... Evan! You must not accuse yourself. No man could do anything.
You have done all--more than all--any man could do.... We--whatever
comes, we shall face it together.... I--I shall always be proud of you.”
“I--I want you to be proud of me. I--the man will be here with our food
in half an hour.... Would you mind standing at some distance?”
She withdrew, puzzled. Evan drew from his pocket the stocking with the
doorknob in its toe and studied it severely. “This,” said he, “is our
sole reliance. It has a most unpromising look. I have never seen an
implement less calculated to arouse hope.”
He edged his chair closer to the bed, grasped the top of the sock, and
scowled at a spot on the coverlid. He shook his head, reached for his
handkerchief, and, folding it neatly, laid it upon the spot at which he
had scowled.
“A--er--target,” he explained.
Then, drawing back his arm, he brought down the improvised slung-shot
with a thud upon the bed.
“Did I hit it?” he asked.
“I--I don’t think so.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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