When the detective returned to consciousness he found himself in a small, dark room, with solid walls of masonry about him, a close prisoner.
There was an awful pain in his head, indicating that he had been struck a severe blow.
He felt over his person, to discover that his weapons had been taken from him.
Then, with an effort, he came to his feet, and began groping about the room. Solid walls on every side met his touch.
"Well," he finally muttered, "I have learned one thing at least to-night—the fools of this world are not all dead. One of them, however, came pretty close to it."
It seemed an age to the imprisoned detective before the creaking of a door announced the coming of some one.
The door opened and closed, and a light filled the room, proceeding from a lantern in the hand of a man. This did not prove a brilliant illuminator, yet it served to reveal the countenance of the new-comer fairly well.
"So you are safely caged at last, my dear Keene," said the visitor, in a sarcastic voice.
"And this is your work, August Bordine, after all the confidence I placed in you," uttered the detective, in a rebuking voice.
"It was merely a game of wits, Mr. Keene. I was too smart for you, in spite of the fact that you're reputed to be the sharpest man-tracker in Gotham. I think it would pay you to hire me for a spell."