Childhood s End Page 0,4

for a moment, then dipped to illuminate the whole bed-which was, he now saw, nothing more than a mattress supported on rough planks.

Out of the darkness a soft voice spoke to him in excellent English, but with an accent which Stormgren could not at first identify.

"Ah, Mr. Secretary-I'm glad to see you're awake. I hope you feel quite all right."

There was something about the last sentence that caught Stormgren's attention, so that the angry questions he had been about to ask died upon his lips. He stared back into the darkness, then replied calmly; "How long have I been Unconscious?"

The other chuckled.

"Several days. We were promised there'd be no after-effects. I'm glad to see it's true."

Partly to gain time, partly to test his own reactions, Stormgren swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was still wearing his night-clothes, but they were badly crumpled and seemed to have gathered considerable dirt. As he moved he felt a slight dizziness-not enough to be unpleasant but sufficient to convince him that he had indeed been drugged.

He turned towards the light.

"Where am I?" he said sharply. "Does Wainwright know about this?"

"Now, don't get excited," replied the shadowy figure. "We won't talk about that sort of thing yet. I guess you're pretty hungry. Get dressed and come along to dinner."

The oval of light slipped across the room and for the first time Stormgren had an idea of its dimensions. It was scarcely a room at all, for the walls seemed bare rock, roughly smoothed into shape. He realized that he was underground, possibly at a great depth. And if he had been unconscious for several days, he might be anywhere on Earth.

The torchlight illuminated a pile of clothes draped over a packing-case.

"This should be enough for you," said the voice from the darkness. "Laundry's rather a problem here, so we grabbed a couple of your suits and half a dozen shirts."

"That," said Stormgren without humour, "was very considerate of you."

"We're sorry about the absence of furniture and electric Light. This place is convenient in some ways, but it rather lacks amenities."

"Convenient for what?" asked Stormgren as he climbed into a shirt. The feel of the familiar cloth beneath his fingers was strangely reassuring.

"Just-convenient," said the voice. "And by the way, since we're likely to spend a good deal of time together, you'd better call me Joe."

"Despite your nationality," retorted Stormgren, "-you're English, aren't you?-I think I could pronounce your real name. It won't be worse than many Finnish ones."

There was a slight pause and the light flickered for an distant.

"Well, I should have expected it," said Joe resignedly. "You must have plenty of practice at this sort of thing."

"It's a useful hobby for a man in my position. At a guess I should say you were brought up in the United States but didn't leave Poland until..."

"That," said Joe firmly, "is quite enough. As you seem to save finished dressing-thank you."

The door opened as Stormgren walked towards it, feeling mildly elated by his small victory. As Joe stood aside to let aim pass, he wondered if his captor was armed. Almost certainly he would be, and in any case he would have friends around.

The corridor was dimly lit by oil lamps at intervals, and for the first time Stormgren could see Joe clearly. He was a man of about fifty, and must have weighed well over two hundred pounds. Everything about him was outsize, from the stained battledress that might have come from any of half a dozen armed forces, to the startlingly large signet ring on his left band. A man built on this scale probably would not bother to carry a gun. It should not be difficult to trace him, thought Stormgren, if he ever got out of this place. He was a little depressed to realize that Joe must also be perfectly well aware of this fact.

The walls around them, though occasionally faced with concrete, were mostly bare rock. It was dear to Stormgren that he was in some disused mine, and he could think of few more effective prisons. Until now the fact of his kidnapping had failed to worry him greatly. He had felt that, whatever happened, the immense resources of the Overlords would soon locate and rescue him. Now he was not so sure. He had already been gone several days-and nothing had happened. There must be a limit even to Karellen's power, and if he were indeed buried in some remote continent, all the science