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Page 65
It was fully an hour before Matlock Styles returned. He was alone and
carried a lantern on his arm, for it was now dark outside.
"I can't take you to town to-night," he said. "I am going to keep you
here until morning."
"You haven't any right to keep me at all."
"I'll risk that. I'll make you comfortable, don't you fear."
Adam Adams thought rapidly. Perhaps to remain a prisoner at the
farmhouse would be better than to be taken to town. During the night
he might get the opportunity to escape.
Matlock Styles untied the end of the rope which bound the detective's
legs and ordered the prisoner to follow him.
"And don't try to run away, unless you want Nelson to make a meal of
you," he added grimly.
"Where are you going to take me?"
"You'll soon see."
The Englishman led the way out of the farmhouse and past the barn and
several other out-buildings. Then he took to a path leading to the
river and presently came to a halt in front of an old deserted mill.
The building was dark and forbidding, and an owl, hooting in a nearby
tree, added to the loneliness of the situation.
"I don't understand this," said the detective, as Matlock Styles came
to a halt.
The Englishman did not answer. Instead, he set down his lantern and
proceeded to bind the detective's legs once more. His manner was now
rough and he acted as if he was somewhat desperate. He shoved open a
door to the mill and peered around inside. Then he stepped back, put
his lantern over his arm and caught Adam Adams up by the middle and
threw the detective over his shoulder as if his prisoner were a log of
wood.
There was no use arguing and Adam Adams did not attempt it. Indeed, he
was rather curious to see what the fellow would do next. Matlock
Styles entered the old mill and then descended a flight of stone steps.
Below was a sort of cellar, damp and musty. Crossing the cellar the
Englishman opened an iron door in a brick wall and literally threw Adam
Adams into the inky darkness beyond.
"Now stay there until I get ready to take you to jail," cried the man.
He banged the heavy iron door shut and bolted it. The next instant the
detective heard him cross the cellar. He mounted the stairs, banged
the door above; and all became quiet.
CHAPTER XXI
CLOSE TO DEATH
For several seconds after being forced into the darkness beyond the
iron door Adam Adams stood perfectly still. He heard Matlock Styles go
upstairs and was fairly well satisfied that the Englishman had left the
old mill.
"That man has something up his sleeve as sure as fate," murmured the
detective to himself. "He is playing a game, and a deep one, too."
The darkness was absolute, and although he strained his eyes to the
utmost he could not see a single thing surrounding him. To all
appearances he was in a veritable dungeon.
He sat down on the cement floor, and bending forward, managed, after
much labor, to loosen the rope around his legs with his teeth. Then he
began to twist and turn at the rope which held his arms and presently
that also came away. His efforts lacerated his wrists and ankles, but
to the pain he paid no attention.
With caution he moved around until his hands came in contact with a
stone wall. He paused for a moment and then moved along the wall,
feeling carefully, so that he might not miss any opening which might
present itself, and keeping one hand in front of him, so that he might
not run into anything.
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