As a first step I'll untie his
hands. The boy can't make any fight against the two of us."

Instead of untying, however, Driggs opened his clasp knife, and cut the
cords at Dick's wrists, after which he untied the big handkerchief that
had also been tied there.

"Now, get on your feet, Prescott."

Dick obeyed, taking his time about it. No matter what was about to
happen Dick knew that he could take better care of himself standing up.

"Exercise your hands and arms a bit, if you want to," continued Driggs.
"You may find that circulation has been stopped."

This Dick knew well enough. As his hands might be of extreme use to him
in the very near future he followed the last bit of advice.

"Go get your writing materials," said Driggs, turning to Ab.

Dexter left the room, soon returning with paper, envelopes and a pen
thrust down into a bottle of ink.

"Now, I'll tell you what you've got to do, boy," Driggs continued. "Or
maybe you can tell him that better, Dexter."

"You're going to write a letter to Mrs. Dexter," stated Ab. "In that
letter you're going to tell her that you're hopelessly in my power, and
that you realize how foolish it is for her to refuse my demands any
longer. So you're to advise her that the best thing for her--and the
only hope of saving your life as well as hers--is for her to pay me that
forty thousand dollars----"

"You've gone up ten in your price, haven't you?" asked Dick with a
momentary lack of caution.

"So-ho!" muttered Ab. "Mrs. Dexter did tell you about my last letter
when you were talking on Main Street last Saturday. And I suppose you
advised her to go back to the 'Blade' office and withdraw the
advertisement that my letter had frightened her into paying for."

Dick bit his lips in silence.

"Did you advise her that way, or didn't you?" insisted Ab. angrily.

"Whatever she and I may have said to each other is not going to be
repeated here," Prescott answered.

"Oh, it isn't Mr. High-and-mighty?" sneered Driggs, going closer to the
boy and laying a hard hand on him. "See here, youngster, you may have an
idea that Dexter isn't very dangerous. You'll have a different notion
about me, if I turn myself loose on you. Now, you get suddenly
respectful. Answer straight, and do just what we tell you--or I'll take
you in hand."

"I won't write any such letter as you order me to," retorted Dick
stubbornly.

"You won't? I tell you you will!" roared Driggs, gripping Prescott by
the