“Perhaps we can rig up a door,” suggested Ned.
“What’s the use?” asked Jimmie. “I’m goin’ to stay right here with the captive until the secret service men come an’ take him away.”
“But they will not come until the case is ended,” urged Ned. “The knowledge that Gaga is a prisoner—arrested by a spy who overheard what was said in the house—”
“I wouldn’t call myself a spy,” Jimmie said, indignantly.
“There is no dishonor in serving as a spy in a good cause,” Ned replied. “As I was saying, the mere knowledge of his arrest would disarrange our plans as much as his escape would. We would better make him secure here and leave him to his own thoughts, it seems to me.”
“I would like to have him remain,” said Gaga, much to the amazement of the boys.
“He can’t resist my winnin’ ways,” cried Jimmie. “All right. I’ll stay if you will send out about a ton of grub.”
“Perhaps the boys will object to bringing it.”
“Jack, or Frank, or any one of them,” Jimmie exclaimed. “No trouble about that. Perhaps it will take two to bring enough.”
The prisoner’s bonds were loosened so that he would not feel them drawing into the flesh, but still he was left securely tied up. The room was not unpleasant, with the starlight shining in through the dismantled doorway and the broken window, and Jimmie planned to have a good rest there during his watch.