"Mr. Morrison," the governor was saying, at his elbow, "Mr.
Morrison, here is a paper that may interest you. Better luck next
time."
Morrison strove to reply. His voice clucked in his throat, and the
hand with which he took the folded newspaper was as the hand of a
paralytic.
"He's broken," whispered Average Jones.
He went straight to Governor Arthur, speaking in his ear. The
governor nodded. Average Jones returned to his seat to watch Carroll
Morrison who, sat, with hell-fires of fear scorching him, until the
last band had blared its way into silence.
Again the governor was speaking to him.
"'Mr. Morrison, I want you to visit a house near here. Mr. Jones
and Mr. Waldemar will come along; you know them, perhaps. Please
don't protest. I positively will not take a refusal. We have a
motor-car waiting."
Furious, but not daring to refuse, Morrison found himself whirled
swiftly away, and after a few turns to shake off the crowd, into
Spencer Street. With his captors, he mounted to the third floor of
an old frame house.
Pages:
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345