As soon as the fellow had departed, Adam Adams commenced to work on his bonds. He had studied all sorts of handcuffs, and knew well how to manage his hands and wrists when being fastened. He had not been able to get the better of the fellow at the cottage, but now it was different, and, with a twist of his wrists, he withdrew first one hand and then the other.
With his hands free, it was an easy matter to untie his feet. This done, he arose and tiptoed his way to the door. He opened the barrier with caution, and peered out.
The sight that met his gaze was not a reassuring one. The counterfeiters sat on all sides of the room, and each had a pistol where it could be gotten at with ease.
"It's got to be done!" Matlock Styles was saying. "It should have been done long ago."
"All right, I'll do it," grumbled another member of the band. "But
I'll be running a big risk."
"Not half the bloomin' risk I've been running," grumbled the Englishman.
"What about the word from Buffalo?" asked another.
"We'll settle that to-night—after we have settled about our prisoner."
"I've got to get back to New York."
"How soon?"