"Who are you, anyway?" the girl whispered, peering up at him.
"To ease your minds," he smiled, "I'm not exactly what I pretend to be. And I want to apologize to you, Miss Dixon, for the exceedingly crude game I was forced to play with you. The Doctor had his suspicions of me, until just a few moments ago, I believe, and he has had us watched ever since I brought you here. But now he has proved his judgment to be sound--" he chuckled to himself--"and has ceased his strict surveillance."
He paused a moment then went on, more seriously. "My name is Michael Conway. I am a detective-inspector in the Criminal Investigation Department of New Scotland Yard. I've trailed certain members of the Martinelli gang all the way from London. My plans seem to have miscarried this evening; otherwise, you need not have been put to all this inconvenience. Remember that the house has ears, and be as quiet as possible. Good night--and good luck!"
The door swung shut behind him. They heard him turn the key in the lock and he was gone.
"Gee Whiz!" muttered Bill, "and I thought--"
"Sh--Bill!" cautioned Dorothy. "Never mind now. Stand where you are, or you'll break your neck in this darkness."
Her voice came from farther off now. He knew she was feeling her way across the room toward the corner.
Presently a light appeared and she spoke again.
"I've found the things," she told Bill. "Besides this flash, there's another automatic, a small ax, and a chisel."
"Thank heaven for that," said Bill. "Now I've a chance of getting these handcuffs off!"