THERE IS TROUBLE AT GORING
similar pad over his mouth and nose. "Where did you put the generator, Brownlow?"
"In the coal-scuttle." A man whom Mrs. Denny would have had no difficulty in recognising, even with the mask on his face, carefully lifted a small black box out of the scuttle from behind some coal, and shook it gently, holding it to his ear. "It's finished," he remarked, and Lakington nodded.
"An ingenious invention is gas," he said, addressing another of the men. "We owe your nation quite a debt of gratitude for the idea."
A guttural grunt left no doubt as to what that nation was, and Lakington dropped the box into his pocket.
"Go and get him," he ordered briefly, and the others left the room.
Contemptuously Lakington kicked one of the dogs; it rolled over and lay motionless in its new position. Then he went in turn to each of the three men sprawling in the chairs. With no attempt at gentleness he turned their faces up to the light, and studied them deliberately; then he let their heads roll back again with a thud. Finally he went to the window and stared down at Drummond. In his eyes was a look of cold fury, and he kicked the unconscious man savagely in the ribs.
"You young swine," he muttered. "Do you think I'll forget that blow on the jaw!"
He took another box out of his pocket and looked at it lovingly.
"Shall I?" With a short laugh he replaced it. "It's too good a death for you, Captain Drummond,