Keeping his eye on the boy he stepped to the plane and Gordon could tell that he was doing something to it but could only guess what it might be. Then he stepped back and, pointing toward the northwest, ordered Gordon to walk in front of him. “Suppose I refuse?” Gordon asked. “Did you like that pain in the back of your neck?” the Jap demanded. “Not particularly.” “That was nothing to what I can do.” “I believe you.” “Then if you don’t wish for a demonstration you’ll do as I say.” “You win,” Gordon told him as he turned and started off in the direction indicated. “Step along lively now and don’t try any funny business,” the Jap ordered as he followed close behind. “I’m not likely to as long’s you’ve got that gun trained on my back,” Gordon growled. “You won’t get hurt if you do as I say.” “Thanks.” For twenty minutes they hurried along, the Jap directing Gordon as to the direction he was to take and telling him when to change it. Then they reached a thick clump of bushes, and when he had gone half way around it at the order of his captor, he perceived a narrow path leading directly into it. “Here we are,” the Jap announced. “Go right in and I’ll follow.” Knowing there was nothing else to do Gordon did not stop to argue the matter but led the way and a moment later found himself inside a small hut built of poles stuck in a circle and fastened together at the top much after the fashion of an Indian tepee. There were three boxes inside which served as chairs and a bed of grass covered with an old blanket. “This where you live?” Gordon asked as he looked about him. “Just at present,” the Jap told him. “Well, now perhaps, you’ll tell me what it’s all about.” “Not yet.” “No?” “You may sit down.” “Thanks.” Gordon sat down on one of the boxes and the Jap, still holding the gun in his hand, sat on another. “What’s the name of the man with you?” he demanded. “Rogers.” “That’s a lie,” the Jap snarled. “Well, if you know, why ask me?” Gordon demanded with no less heat. “Maybe you think that’s his name.” “You bet your life I do, and what’s more, I know it is.” “Who’s the other boy?” “My brother.” “What’s his name?” “Bill Hunniwell.” “And yours?” “Gordon.” “Where do you live?” “In Maine.” “Rogers live there too?” “No, he lives in New York.” “How long have you known him?” “Rogers?” “Certainly.” “About a year. But, say, what’s the idea of all the questions?” “That’s my business. You answer them, that’s all you’ve got to do right now. What is this Rogers’ business?” “You mean what does he do for a living?” “That’s what I mean.”