Nick flashed the light on his assistant’s face and saw that it had become exceedingly grave.
Chick realized what the game was, and it was enough to make him sober.
“They intend to kill us with that gas,” said he.
“And they’ll do it,” answered Nick, grimly, “if we can’t find the jet and plug it up.”
The incandescent light in the pocket lamp, of course, would not ignite the escaping gas, and Nick flashed the penciled beam to every point of the side walls, the floor and the roof.
Not a sign of a gas pipe could be seen.
But the gas was coming from somewhere, and coming in a quantity that would soon fill the chamber.
Breathing was already exceedingly difficult.
“Go on tapping the walls,” gasped Nick. “If we don’t find a way to escape, or get next to that gas plug, we’ll be laid out cold.”
Goaded by the foul atmosphere, which was rapidly becoming more and more poisonous, the two detectives hastily tapped the walls to their full extent.