He had an idea, born of the experiences of the last hour, which he now decided to propose to the detective when they were together, and—well, something might come of it for the general betterment of conditions.
Thinking deeply upon it, he dozed, tired out as he was.
He forgot, for the time being, the propinquity of that other man whom he had captured so dexterously.
He forgot that the lynx-eyed gentleman from the Klondike was watching him narrowly, taking note of every breath he drew, and calculating the length of them in order to be made aware of the moment when Lynne should sleep.
Now and then while he watched, Lynne opened his eyes lazily, and then closed them again.
He had directed Thomas to wait at the door for the arrival of the detective, and he began, drowsily, to think that it was taking Nick Carter an unconscionably long time to get there.
Red Mike thought that the time was going all too swiftly for his purposes.
He was a dexterous fellow, was Red Mike.
His long experience as a gambler had softened his hands, and made them unusually pliable; they were small hands, too, for such a large man—for such a muscular individual as he was; and he possessed that peculiar utility of the joints which is described by the compound word double-jointed.
While he watched the now sleeping man, he was busily engaged with his wrist and fingers behind his back, and although the feat would have been impossible to a large percentage of men, he did succeed in twisting them so that he was enabled to reach the ends of the wire cord with which Thomas had bound him.