The Wilmington morning star., 1940-05-08
CHAPTER EIGHT

After a dozen or more steps in
the darkness a faint light appeared
to the left. We turned toward it
and came to the bottom of a stair
way at the top of which was a
window with moonlight stream
ing through. My captor poked me
from behind to indicate that l was
to climb.
There were cobWebs on the walls
and dust on the steps. We sounded
like a cat and a horse-I in my
bare feet and the boatman in his
heavy shoes.
At the top of the stairs we found
o second flight, going up to another
foor. The building here was not
as ruinous as it appeared in its
lower regions, for on this second
stairway there were nc cobWebs
and the dust had been swept clean.
We came into a great warehouse
room, dimly lighted on one side by
many windows and piled high with
boxes and sacks that threw black,
mysterious shadows. The indie
scribable odor of onions and pota-
toes and straw pervaded the place.
Through the windows I saw the
tops of trees growing on the river
levee.
My captor, who had not yet
spoken a word, pushed me to a pile
of sacks, ripped the gag from my
mouth, and gave me a shove that
dropped me on top of them, face
down, with my hands still tied be-
hind me. He knotted a rope swift
ly around my bare ankles. 1t was
a hard rope, and hurt. Il
When his footsteps retreated II
rolled over and strained my ears
to listen. He vas among the SACKS
and boxes at the far end OF the
huge room. There seemed to be no
one else in the place. The next mo-
ment the sound of a door opening
and the click of its latch as it
closed, told me I was alone.
The stiffness was complete, ex-
cept for the throbbing in my head.
] felt the warmth of blood trickling
down over my forehead. It collect
ed on my eyebrows.
I shrugged with my bonds. My
efforts we're of no use. My hands
were numb. I could not tell what
1 was doing with my fingers. The
ropes around my ankles only cut
deeper as I tried to loosen them.
gave up, and lay still, trying to
think. I was in a desperate plight.
My absence from the clubhouse
would probably convince the police
that I was guilty of Alfred Mark
hams murder, and had fled. Per-
haps that was the purpose of this
kidnapping, to increase the sus-
pjcion against me-if my captor
had been afraid the police would
suspect him.
What had this huge boatman
been doing in the garden by the
clubhouse?. What did he know
about the murder?
The questions sent such a throb-
bling through my head that I reso-
lutely stared out the windows and
tried to make my mind a blank.
Then I closed my eyes and lay
back on the sacks. knowing I must
conserve my strength.
Dawn could not be far off, I told
myself.
Hours passed. The windows
were tinged with the pink of the
sunrise, driving the shadows back.
Still my captor did not return.
Once or twice there a the
sound of a rat scurrying across the
floor or rafting in one of the boxes.
I was very thirsty.
I began to wonder if the boat
man intended me to lie here until
I was found by the rightful owners
of the place when they came to
work. My heart leaped when a
door opened and heavy footsteps
approached across the floor behind
me. But it was the boatman again,
I decided from a view of the long
hairy arm that came around the
corne of the sacks and set a bowl
Bella ~LANAN-COTIRT RI