“You are not hurt at all,” declared Dick.
“One shot went through his hat,” said Charley.
“It’s a pity it didn’t go through his head,” added Dick. “Now, then, Mr. Mudd, seeing that you know the way out of this place I’ll thank you to show it to us, and be quick about it, do you understand?”
Mudd began to snuffle.
“I’ll do it,” he drawled. “I do it under protest, because I have to do it. I’m a man of very sensitive feelings and I don’t like to be talked rough to like that. I’m like the devil. I’m not as black as I’m painted. I’ve acted in your interest, Dick Darrell, right along.”
“So you say,” replied Dick. “I suppose, of course, you were acting for my interest when you tried to stick a knife into my back in the streets of Washington. Oh, you’re a bird, you are! Travel on and show us the way out of here and hold your tongue or I’ll make you—that’s all!”
Mudd seemed thoroughly cowed. With his hands tied behind him he shuffled on through the cavern.
Dick noticed that he kept in a direct line with the lake and seemed to know just where he was going, which, indeed, proved to be the case, for in a few moments he paused beside what seemed to be a flight of stone steps.
“There’s the way out,” he growled.
“Why, these are regular stairs!” exclaimed Dick.