There were no openings anywhere—that is, none that could be seen.
“How the dickens did they get us in here?” asked Chick.
“Possibly they lowered us down from the top. There may be a trap in the roof of the vault. Hello! What’s this? A knife, by George!”
In sweeping the ray of light across the floor, it had struck upon a gleaming object that lay less than a half-dozen feet away.
Nick reached for it.
It was a pearl-handled knife, such as gentlemen carry.
On a piece of silver set into the pearl there were two initials.
“‘W. H., said Nick, reading the letters. “Thunder!”
“What now?” inquired Chick.
Nick turned the knife over so that the position of the two letters were reversed.