In a moment Adam Adams was seized and bound in such a fashion that he could scarcely move a hand or a foot. Then a bag was placed over his head, with the eye-holes to the back, so that he could see absolutely nothing. He was led away, through a door opposite to the one he had entered and along a stone passageway. When the party came to a halt they were in a stone chamber, not over twelve feet square. Here the detective was tied fast to a ring in the wall and the two men sat down on a bench to guard him, lighting pipes and smoking in the meanwhile.
"Are you going to keep me blindfolded?" asked the detective.
"We are," was the surly response.
"For how long?"
"Until we get orders to do otherwise."
"Matlock Styles is your master, is he?"
"He is our chief. But you needn't to ask any questions about him."
"I don't intend to, but if you'll take this off my head I'll tell you something worth knowing," went on Adam Adams smoothly.
"Is this a game?" growled the fellow, known as Number Three. "Because if it is, I warn you it won't work. We've got pistols and we can shoot."
"How can I play any game on you, tied up in this fashion? No, I want to see a little and get more air—and I want to get square on Matlock Styles."