“You’ve got nerve, kid. I’ve got to hand it to you,” said the other. “I’m sorry they’ve got you slated for the river. I used to be a ball player myself once, and I guess I’ve got some idea of how you feel about it.”
Joe paid little attention to the man’s words, for his mind was busy trying to place the man whom he had seen when he first entered the room upstairs. He was sure he had seen him somewhere.
His captors conducted him to the room in the cellar, thrust him in, and locked the door. Joe felt that he might perhaps go to his death when that door opened in the evening. The men were desperate. They planned injury, and a step too far— A crowd of thoughts and memories came thronging through his mind. A bitter end, this, to his work for fame and fortune.
But was there, in fact, no chance of escape from that dark pit? He paced to the wall and started to examine every square inch of it with his fingers. Nothing but hard, smooth cement met his search, and after an hour of fruitless effort he was about to give over the attempt when he heard a stealthy, scratching sound from the direction of the door.
[CHAPTER XXIV]
THE ESCAPE
The scratching sound continued, and then Joe could hear the sound of the lock being stealthily shot back. But why should his captors exercise such caution? There was dead silence for a few seconds, and then the door swung slowly open, letting in a dim, sickly light from the cellar beyond.
This slow approach of some unseen person was beginning to get on Joe’s nerves, and he was about to utter a challenge when a sibilant whisper warned him to be quiet.
The door was now open a foot or so, and a dark figure edged itself into the room. Joe stood tense, waiting for the attack that he thought was coming.