Ned almost yelled with pain as he straightened up on his injured leg, and Kennell, noticing him wince, gave a loud, brutal laugh. "Hamstrung, by the great bow-gun!" he exclaimed. "I guess you'll give us no more trouble." To Ned's relief, for he had almost begun to share Kennell's belief that Varian had been over-drugged, the inventor had opened his eyes a few moments before they reached the hut, and murmured feebly. His words lacked sense, however, under the influence of the drug as he still was. "Bring them both into the front room," ordered the elder Pulsifer, as he climbed down from the driver's seat. The "front room," it transpired, was a sparsely furnished apartment, containing a table and two or three chairs, and nothing else. The floors were bare and of polished wood after the manner of the country. Ned guessed that the place was occupied only temporarily by the Pulsifers as a quiet spot in which they could meet their agents, secure from outside observation. The fact that they had brought an auto to this part of Cuba, where horses are mostly used, lent color to this supposition. Dave Pulsifer's first act was to light a lamp, which he placed on the table; his second, to ignite a cigar, and his next to offer a chair to the white and shaky inventor. "Sit down, Varian," he said. "We don't wish to injure you, or hurt you unless we have to; but, as you wouldn't talk business over quietly, we have had to adopt these means of bringing you to terms." Glad enough of a chance to rest, Mr. Varian slipped wearily into the offered chair. Ned was shoved along by Kennell till he stood behind the inventor with Kennell close at his elbow. Since his frustrated escape, the wretches who held him captive were taking no chances of another runaway. Schultz, Silas, and Hank Harkins stood behind the younger Pulsifer, who had now joined his brother at the opposite side of the table to that at which Mr. Varian's chair had been placed. Before the younger of the worthy pair of brothers lay a revolver convenient to his hand. As he regarded Mr. Varian intently, his jeweled fingers played with its butt suggestively. The inventor made no reply to the elder Pulsifer's remarks, and the foreign agent--as he now stood revealed--continued in a sharp tone. This time he came right to the point. "Varian, we need not beat about the bush now. We want those plans and the formula." "I have not got them," replied the inventor, in a low, shaky voice. "You lie!" It was a sure indication of Mr. Varian's pitiable condition that he made no move or spoke no word at the insult. "You searched my pockets before you forced that stuff over my face," he breathed. "You know that I have not got them."