He could hear the gurgling of the water in the mill sluice, separated from him by one of the plank walls, and he knew that the rocky ground under his feet must be on a level with the bottom of the sluice.
“By Jove, that was a quick and unexpected trick,” he muttered, after scrambling up from the water swirling around him. “I’m in a section of the sluiceway that has been boarded in to reduce the flow of water to the wheel. If this rascal opens the gate that admits the water from the river—well, I shall be drowned like a rat in a trap.
“Did he have that infernal contrivance constructed for such emergency as that in which I placed him? This looks very much like it. I have in Chick, however, an anchor to the windward. If I can stave off a more devilish move by this scoundrel, it’s long odds that Chick will show up in time to take a hand in the game.”
It was not in Nick’s nature to hurry to meet trouble halfway. He preferred to combat it only when it overtook him.
A brief examination of the four walls in which he was confined, and which inclosed a space about eight feet square, convinced him that immediate escape was utterly impossible.
Listening, he could hear Ardley’s tread on the floor, but not a sound yet had come from the scoundrel, though several minutes had passed since he closed and secured the trap.
“By Jove, the rascal may be getting ready to open the sluice gate,” thought Nick, shifting a revolver to his side pocket. “I guess I’d better shout up to him and engage him in conversation. I must find some way to play for time.”
Nick was about to do so, glancing up at the gloomy floor, when the hurried tread of other feet fell upon[Pg 29] his ears, quickly followed by a voice which he instantly recognized.
“Well, Ben, what do you say? Have you got him? I know you have, all right. Your face shows it.”
“Margate’s voice, as sure as I’m a foot high,” thought Nick. “I have the satisfaction, at least, of having run down these rascals. That may not be all, by Jove, if they will only continue talking.”