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CHAPTER XVII. ANNETTE

THE troubles of the future, however, soon faded before the troubles of the

present. And of these, the most immediate and pressing was that of hunger.

Tommy had a healthy and vigorous appetite. The steak and chips partaken of for

lunch seemed now to belong to another decade. He regretfully recognized the fact

that he would not make a success of a hunger strike.

He prowled aimlessly about his prison. Once or twice he discarded dignity, and

pounded on the door. But nobody answered the summons.

Hang it all!" said Tommy indignantly. "They can't mean to starve me to death." A

new-born fear passed through his mind that this might, perhaps, be one of those

pretty ways" of making a prisoner speak, which had been attributed to Boris.

But on reflection he dismissed the idea.

"It's that sour faced brute Conrad," he decided. "That's a fellow I shall enjoy

getting even with one of these days. This is just a bit of spite on his part. I'm

certain of it."

Further meditations induced in him the feeling that it would be extremely

pleasant to bring something down with a whack on Conrad's egg-shaped head.

Tommy stroked his own head tenderly, and gave himself up to the pleasures of

imagination. Finally a bright idea flashed across his brain. Why not convert

imagination into reality? Conrad was undoubtedly the tenant of the house. The

others, with the possible exception of the bearded German, merely used it as a

rendezvous. Therefore, why not wait in ambush for Conrad behind the door, and

when he entered bring down a chair, or one of the decrepit pictures, smartly on to

his head. One would, of course, be careful not to hit too hard. And then--and

then, simply walk out! If he met anyone on the way down, well----Tommy

brightened at the thought of an encounter with his fists. Such an affair was

infinitely more in his line than the verbal encounter of this afternoon. Intoxicated

by his plan, Tommy gently unhooked the picture of the Devil and Faust, and

settled himself in position. His hopes were high. The plan seemed to him simple

but excellent.

Time went on, but Conrad did not appear. Night and day were the same in this

prison room, but Tommy's wrist-watch, which enjoyed a certain degree of

accuracy, informed him that it was nine o'clock in the evening. Tommy reflected

gloomily that if supper did not arrive soon it would be a question of waiting for

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The Secret Adversary