After the first few remarks, Moore plunged into an account of his adventures after he had been captured that day. It seemed that he, too, was taken straight to the house on Long Island and put through a sort of Third Degree in the room of the voices. It must have been pretty bad, for he did not want to talk about it much. But I found out that the Emperor would ask him a question, and when Moore refused to answer, they turned on some other sort of gas and put him to sleep, waking him up, violently sick, and questioning him again. When they realized at last that they could get nothing out of him, they told Moore, who was pretty well all in by that time, that the next time the gas was turned on he would not wake up at all. But just before they turned it on, and while Moore was bracing himself for the end, his tormentors asked him casually whether he knew anything about mechanics and electricity. Grasping at a straw, Moore admitted that he was an electrical engineer. Whereupon he was put to sleep by the kind of gas used on me, but woke up again to find himself in a cell in the same building in which they had locked me up. Later, they let him see part of the apparatus which worked the cylinder, although he was never allowed to study the thing sufficiently to get a clear understanding of the nature of the fierce rays. However, he was able to make certain adjustments that were needed, and he was retained as the house electrician after that. A few days later he was allowed, under supervision, to make the electrical preparations for a Japanese fête. He was loose in the building with his guard the night we attacked. His guard was killed at the start and Moore lay low until things quieted down. Then he came out to try to find me, saw us start for the room of the cylinder and ran after us to warn us, for he had discovered the electrical arrangement for blowing up the little stone house in case of an attack. It had been a bar from one of the windows of that house that had crushed in my ribs. But, Moore said, no one had been able to find any trace of the man Clark, who had disappeared early in the search, of the young man about town who had given Moore his first clew that night on Riverside Drive, nor, finally, of Pride. Nor has anything ever been learned of these three. The loss of Pride was a bitter blow to all of us. The man gave up his life, I believe, to trace me that night, probably putting up a fight after his car smashed up and getting killed in the process. None of us will ever forget him. Whatever death he died, I know and we all know that it was a good death. All honor to him and may he sleep soundly. The Chief and Moore and I have lost a friend that we can never replace. Later, when the earlier report of my death had been contradicted, I had other visitors, and I began to learn more about what had happened after the big drug raid, as the papers called it.