The thought made Frank fight with such fierceness that they could not beat him down. They hurled him against the door time after time, till, at last, it flew open beneath the shock. Frank’s heels caught on the stool, and he fell backward into the passage.
Before he could rise, five men were on him. A light gleamed near and he was dragged farther in. Then he was beaten into non-resistance, and his hands were tied. At last he was a captive in the hands of Martin Brattle!
CHAPTER VII.
IN THE WINE-CELLAR.
Frank was carried down a shaking flight of stairs into a cellar, where there were barrels and wine-casks and long shelves of bottles, covered with dust and cobwebs. They placed him on a bench, and the light of their coal-oil lamps showed him something that caused him to start and groan.
Bruce Browning was there, standing in the center of the cellar, bound securely to a stone pillar, a gag in his mouth. The eyes of the big Yale man met those of his chum, and there was an instant understanding between them.
Frank knew why Bruce had not returned to the hotel. At last the mighty giant had been conquered and made a captive. In that look volumes were spoken. Bruce expressed his anger, grief, and regret, while Frank showed his sympathy.
They had found each other, but they were helpless and in the power of desperate men. The faces of those men were covered by masks, with the exception of that of Brattle. It seemed that Martin did not care to attempt to conceal his identity. There were seven of them in all.
Brattle stood before Frank and sneered at him.
“Poor fool!” he said. “Did you think you could get the best of me? With all your tricks of disguise, you are not smart enough to cope with Mart Brattle.”