Neither plotter could see the boy, for no light had been struck in the room.
"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.
"Do you want me to shoot him ?" whispered the other huskily.
"If you have to, but I don't believe it will be necessary.

The cub will soon understand that his safety depends entirely on doing as he is told." "Say," muttered Tom thickly.