The party passed down a stone corridor to the door of a room which had evidently been used as a fortress dungeon in times past. Redfern turned a great key in the lock and motioned the prisoners inside.
At that moment he stood facing the prisoners with the two others at his sides, all looking inquiringly into the faces of those who were taking their defeat so easily.
As Redfern swung his hand toward the open door he felt something cold pressing against his neck. He turned about to face an automatic revolver held in the hands of Ben Whitcomb! His two accomplices moved forward a pace in defense, but drew back when they saw the automatic in Jimmie’s hand within a foot of their breasts.
“And now,” said Mr. Havens, as coolly as if the situation was being put on in a New York parlor, “you three men will please step inside.”
“I’m a game loser, too!” exclaimed Redfern.
In a moment the door was closed and locked and the cords were cut from the hands of the four prisoners.
“Good!” said Jimmie. “I don’t know what you fellows would do without me. I’m always getting you out of scrapes!”
What was said after that need not be repeated here. It is enough to say that Mr. Havens thoroughly appreciated the service which had been rendered.
“The game is played to the end, boys,” he said in a moment. “The only thing that remains to be done is to get Redfern down the secret stairway to the machines. The others we care nothing about.”
“I know where that secret stairway is,” Ben said. “While we were sneaking around here in the darkness, a fellow came climbing up the stairs, grunting as though he had reached the top of the Washington monument.”