man? Jimmie Dale was studying the other's chin, the lips,
the white, even teeth, the jet-black hair. Some day the tables might be
turned. Could he recognise again this cool, imperturbable ruffian who so
callously threatened him with murder?

"Well, Mr. Dale? I am waiting!"

"I am not a magician," said Jimmie Dale contemptuously. "I could not
answer your questions if I wanted to."

The other's hand slid instantly to a row of electric buttons on the
desk.

"Very well, Mr. Dale!" he said quietly. "You do not believe, I see, that
I would dare to carry my threat into execution; you perhaps even doubt
my power. I shall take the trouble to convince you--I imagine it will
stimulate your memory."

The door opened. Two men were standing on the threshold, both in evening
dress, both masked. The man behind the desk came forward, took Jimmie
Dale's arm almost courteously, and led him from the room out into a
corridor, where he halted abruptly.

"I want to call your attention first, Mr. Dale, to the fact that as far
as you are concerned you neither have now, nor ever will have, any idea
whether you are in the heart of New York or fifty miles away from it.
Now, listen! Do you hear anything?"

There was nothing. Only the strange silence of that other room was
intensified now. There was not a sound; stillness such as it seemed to
Jimmie Dale he had never experienced before was around him.

"You may possibly infer from the silence that you are NOT in the city,"
suggested the other, after a moment's pause. "I leave you to your own
conclusions in that respect. The cause, however, of the silence is
internal, not external; we had sound-proof principles in mind to a
perhaps exaggerated degree when this building was constructed. If you
care to do so, you have my permission to shout, say, for help, to your
heart's content. We shall make no effort to stop you."

Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders. He was staring down a brilliantly
lighted, richly carpeted corridor. There were doors on one side, windows
on the other, the windows all hung with heavy, closely drawn portieres.
The corridor was certainly not on the ground floor, but whether it was
on the second or third, or even above that again, he had no means of
knowing. From appearances, though, the place seemed more like a large,
private mansion than anything else.

"Just one word more before we proceed," continued the other. "I do not
wish you to labour under any illusion. Here we a