“Here, what’s up?” cried the man, in wonder.
“Don’t let him get away, Casey!” cried Alexander Slocum. “He is going to make trouble, sure!”
“Let me go!” burst out our hero as the book-keeper caught hold of him. “Let go, or I’ll——”
Jerry never finished that sentence. Alexander Slocum had picked up the ruler the youth had dropped, and leaped to the front. Down came the weapon on the young oarsman’s head; he felt a sharp stinging pain—and then he knew no more.
When Jerry came to his senses all was dark around him. He was lying on a damp, cement floor, evidently that of a cellar.
His head ached greatly, and for several minutes he could not remember what had happened.
Then came back that scene in Slocum’s office. He staggered to his feet.
Where was he and how long had he been there?
The first question was readily answered. Stepping forward, Jerry stumbled over some loose coal. He was in a coal-cellar. Around and above were brick walls. The door was of sheet-iron, and it was tightly closed and barred. How had he come to that place? Probably his enemies had carried him hither, although how they could do it without being seen was a question.
As soon as our hero felt strong enough he looked about for some means of escaping from his prison. With great care he examined the walls and tried the door.