Jack, meanwhile, with Blueskin's assistance, had set the table once more upon its legs, and placing writing materials, which he took from a shelf, upon it, made Shotbolt, who was still gagged, but whose arms were for the moment unbound, sit down before them. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. ‘You make a game with me, I think. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. Danger, in the form he apprehended, was lurking outside: nor was he destined to enjoy long repose.
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