All he got as a reward was the sound of a door closing with a bang.
The words that had come to him were in the tones of Miguel, and they were uttered with a savage vindictiveness that made Chick wish he could have been in the adjoining cellar to ram them down the speaker’s throat.
“You’ll stay here till you give in—or rot!” was what Miguel told the prisoner, whoever he might be.
When the door slammed there was silence, and then it came to Chick that possibly the prisoner might be none other than his beloved chief.
There was no sound reason why it should be Nick Carter who had just been threatened. On the other hand, it might be he, for, if it was considered worth while to take Chick prisoner, was it not probable that Nick had been taken at the same time?
“I’ll have to take a chance,” muttered Chick. “I must find out who is in that other room.”
He squeezed his head into the angle of the wall, in the vain endeavor to bring his eyes level with the opening. Then, in strained accents, he called out:
“Who is in that cellar?”
“Hello!” was the response. “Who is that?”
Chick’s sense of hearing was keen, and at once he knew it was Marcos answering him.