Chapter 12
THE first conscious sensation that Jimmy Sepping had was of a staccato knocking. He dreamt that he was at Scotland Yard, examining finger-prints with Dicker, and one of the lines on a print could not be kept into place, until Dicker produced a tack and an ebony ruler and began solemnly to hammer the line into place. Then he heard voices calling:
"Who's in there?"
His head was aching, his mouth was hot and parched. With a supreme effort of will he sat up, groaning, and by the unshaded light hung from the centre of the ceiling he saw that he was in a small room and had been lying on an iron bedstead. Where was he? He buried his face in his hands and strove to think, and all the time the hammering and shouting was going on outside the door.
"Who is there?" said a voice again.
