The hint was rough but effectual.  Roy saw that it would be mere folly to attempt resistance.

“What’s the meaning of this rough behavior?” he asked in a steady voice, mentally resigning himself to the inevitable.

“You just come with us for a little while,” said the gruff-voiced one.  “Don’t worry; we ain’t goin’ ter harm you.  You’ll git loose agin after a while.  Don’t worry about that.”

This assurance, though mysterious, was more or less comforting.  But Roy resented the utter mystery of the affair.

“But what’s it all for?” he protested.  “Is Mortlake at the back of it; or—­”

“Now, you come along, young feller,” said a gruff voice, “don’t axe no questions and you won’t git told no lies, see?”

Roy saw.

“Well, go ahead, since I’m in your power,” he said.  “But I warn you it will go hard with you if ever I am able to set justice on your track.”

“Hard words break no bones, guv’ner,” came from the gruff-voiced man, who was none other than Joey Eccles, disguised with a big beard.  The man who had escorted Roy into the trap was, in truth, a former workman at the Mortlake factory, who had been discharged for incompetency.  He had applied at the plant to be taken on again, being well-nigh desperate with hunger, and Mortlake had assigned him to the present task, for which, if the truth be told, he had no great liking.

“Where do you want me to go?” was Roy’s next question, as neither of his captors had yet made a move.

“We’ll show you fast enough, young guv’ner,” said Joey through his beard.  “Come on, this way.”

He caught hold of Roy’s arm and began piloting him along a path, or rather cow track, that ran across the meadow.  It was now almost dark, and Roy, after they had gone a few steps, was only able to make out the dark outlines of what seemed to be a small hut on the edge of a dense woods lying directly ahead of them.

“I suppose that’s our destination,” thought the boy.  “Well, they have not attempted any violence, and I guess if they had meant me any physical harm they would have attacked me when they first trapped me.  But what does all this mean?  That’s the question.”

Nothing more was said as the three, the captors and the prisoner, tramped across the dewy grass.  As they drew closer to the building Roy had descried, he saw that it was a dilapidated looking affair.  Shutters hung crazily from a single hinge, broken window-panes looked disconsolately out.  In the roof was a yawning gap, from which a great owl flapped as they drew closer.  Evidently the place had not been occupied as a dwelling for many years.

The door, however, was open, and, with the pistol still menacing him, Roy was marched by his captors into the moldy, smelling place.

Handing his pistol to the other man, gruff-voice—­otherwise Joey Eccles—­struck a match.  Carefully screening it from the draughts which swept through the rickety building, he led the way into a bare room in which was a tumble-down table and two boxes to serve as seats.  A pack of greasy cards lay on the table-top, showing that Joey had been passing his time at solitaire.