“Something may have happened to the boy. These Westerners weren’t born yesterday.”
“They’re clever in their way; but they overshot the mark when they put you and me in the same cell.”
“You bet! If I can’t get you loose with my teeth, I’ll write myself down as a has-been. Roll over this way.”
Nick rolled toward the point from which Chick’s voice came.
As his body turned, he felt something in his pocket.
It was his pocket lamp, undoubtedly, and its presence proved that Ramsay and his pals hadn’t had time for a very exhaustive search through their victims’ clothes.
“This must be the cellar under Boucicault’s,” remarked Chick, as he twisted his body around until it lay parallel with Nick’s, and directly behind.
“When Ramsay and his pals brought us down here,” returned Nick, “they evidently planned that we weren’t to leave until we were carried feet first.”
“Ramsay wants you out of the way, Nick, so he can work his million-dollar graft without being bothered.”
Chick’s hands were bound behind him, just as Nick’s were, and he had to locate the cords by brushing his face against his chief’s arms.