What strange influence could this man Hobart exercise over the girl?  To West’s judgment he was in no way the sort of man to appeal to Natalie Coolidge.  He was of a low, cunning order, with some degree of outward polish, to be sure, yet inherently tough, and exhibiting marks of a birth-right which indelibly stamped him of a social class far below her own.  Surely, she could not love the fellow, yet unquestionably he possessed a mysterious power over her, difficult to explain through any other hypothesis.  If West had not known the young woman under different conditions, he might have accepted this theory, and dismissed the whole matter from mind.  But it was the haunting memory of that earlier Natalie Coolidge, the mistress of Fairlawn, which would not permit his complete surrender.  She had seemed all that his dream of womanhood called for.  Unconsciously, he had given her his heart, and he could not tear the remembrance from mind.  There was something wrong, terribly wrong; what it was he had no means of knowing, yet, there in the dark, he determined he would know, would never be content until he learned the whole truth.  All his hope, all his future, depended on the answer.

Hobart and Turner were absent for some little while; the sound of their voices ceased, but the distant flicker of the lantern enabled West to trace their progress up the alley, and then back again.  They returned in no pleasant humour, convinced that their expected victim had escaped safely, but made no further effort to search the yard.  Hobart said enough to make it plain that his immediate project was to disappear, leaving Mike to his own devices.  With this point settled the two tramped heavily up the stairs, and disappeared within.  West, confident at last, that the way was left clear, wriggled out from his place of concealment behind the barrel, and stood erect.  He felt stronger now, and in less pain, convinced that his injuries were in no degree serious.  He could move his limbs freely and his mind was active.  The darkness was so intense he had to grope his way forward, anxious to make no noise which might betray his presence.  No doubt the basement could be reached in some way from the floor above, and any unusual sound below might easily attract attention.

In the intensity of the gloom, his sense of direction failed, taking him somewhat further back before he finally located the exact position of those outer steps.  Then as he turned abruptly, his foot came in contact with an obstacle on the floor.  For an instant he could not determine what it was; then, with a thrill of horror, he realized the presence of a human body.  There was no sound, no movement, and West drew back from contact with the object, shrinking in horror.  Then he gripped himself sternly—­whoever, whatever this was, he must know.  Alive or dead he must determine the truth.  He bent over, feeling with his hands in the darkness.  Good God, the flesh was warm; it was no cold corpse he touched, but a living human being; ay! tied like a mummy, unable to move hand or foot.  Then, as suddenly, his groping fingers, eager enough now, discovered the cause of silence—­the man was gagged, cruelly gagged, helpless to utter a sound.