"Pick him up," ordered the one who appeared to be directing affairs.
"If he comes to while you're carrying him you can handle him easily
enough, can't you?"
"Of course. Even after he knows pie from dirt he'll be dazed for a few
minutes."
"Come along with him."
"Strike a light."
For answer the director of this brutal affair flashed a little glow from
a pocket electric lamp.
The way led down a hallway, through to the back of the house, and thence
down a steep flight of stairs into a cellar.
The man who appeared to be in charge of this undertaking had brought a
lantern, holding it ahead of the man who carried Tom's unconscious form.
"Dump him there," ordered the man with the lantern.
"He's stirring," reported the fighter, after having dropped young Reade
to the hard earthen floor.
"Take this then," replied the other, who, having hung the lantern on a
hook overhead, had stepped off beyond the fringe of darkness. He now
returned with a shotgun, which he handed to the fighter who had attacked
the young chief engineer in the street.
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