David Marchant, private detective, always walked straight into it. After 150 pages of working out co
David Marchant, private detective, always walked straight into it. After 150 pages of working out convoluted clues and misidentities, he had worked it all out. But he still needed the evidence and that meant (of course) getting into McGruder’s office. It was McGruder, the lawyer, who was plainly the cover for the Syndicate.He had been searching for only 10 minutes when the lights went out. When he woke up the back of his skull was throbbing, courtesy of a semi-hard rubber cosh. The type that can kill a guy, or (skillfully used) disable him instantly. And McGruder’s chauffeur was skillful with a rubber cosh. And at trussing his victims so they knew the hard way that they would not be able to escape. And David Marchant had certainly been trussed - his wrists tied tight and pulled up and tied to the rope which pulled his biceps together as if the muscles would tear.Two guys, one masked the other McGruder, were staring down on him, lying there over the office desk. “I’m afraid, Mr Marchant, that I cannot introduce my client. He prefers to remain - well - anonymous. Later you see more of him. And of his associates. Or at least those of his lower-grade associates who are employed either to extract information or provide entertainment for the Board of Directors. For myself, I am almost sorry to deliver. You are quite intelligent and good looking. Such a shame. I sometimes wonder why young men like you love to blunder about so. The psychologist in me tells me that it a love of danger. You see yourself tied up and gagged. And escaping. And sorting out the bad guys with his fists or render them up to Justice.”“David strained against the ropes. “You…you”“Now now, Mr Marchant. Life is erally not like a dime novel read by young bucks. The only question is between an anesthetic for the journey out of town or one of Nelson’s special gags. Gag I think. I love the final struggling and grunting as I say good-bye.” -- source link
#captured#trussed up