"Well," she said, "it's done, and it can't be helped; and Nick Carter has been here, and he's gotten away again; but, all the same, we've got Chick in our power, and if I do to him as I feel like doing now, he will regret the day that he ever took my trail."
"If you leave him where he is now, Madge, he'll do that," said Grinnel, laughing softly.
"Why, what would happen to him there?" she demanded quickly.
"For one thing the rats would probably eat him up before very long, and it wouldn't be the first meal of that kind they've had down there, either."
"You didn't tell me where you put him," said Madge.
"I don't tell anybody exactly where that place is, Madge. It's a little hole that I've dug out underneath the cellar of this house; if it was anywhere in the old country it would be called a dungeon; as it is, I call it the grave—people who go there have a habit of never coming out again."
The detective was anxious to know what had become of Phil, the bartender. It was evident that the man had done nothing to betray the detective, since these two were talking so quietly just inside the door where Nick was listening.
The next words, while they did not exactly reassure him, made him think that, after all, the bartender might be carrying out his contract by attempting to set Chick at liberty himself.
"Is that where you sent Phil a few moments ago?" she asked. "Down there to the dungeon where you put Chick?"
The detective could hear Grinnel chuckle and then reply: