The room was in darkness, but Paul soon had the rays of a dark lantern
flashing about the place.
"Let us move with caution," said Harry, taking the lead, and entering
the hall through the doorway which Ruggles, in his hasty flight, had
left open. Soon voices greeted them from the basement, and a light
glimmered through a half-open door at the head of the stairs.
"If we could only put him under down here," said a voice, which the
reader will recognize as that of Nick Brower, the villainous
accomplice of Professor Ruggles from the opening of our story.
"Wal, I reckin we kin," said the villainous companion of Brower. As he
spoke, he went to the side of the fallen man-hunter, and placed the
point of a knife against his throat.
"What now, pard?
"Dead men tell no tales, Nick."
"True. Send it home---"
SPANG!
The sharp report of a revolver wake the echoes once more. The knife
dropped from the nerveless grasp of the would-be assassin, and with a
howl of pain he began dancing an Irish jig on the stone floor of the
cellar.
Nick Brower whirled instantly, snatched a revolver from his hip, to
find that four glittering bulldogs confronted him from the stairs.
"Drop that weapon, or we will drop you!" thundered Harry Bernard in a
stern voice.
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