A secret sliding door in the interior bulkhead wall suddenly flew open, revealing a long extension of the basement, running even under the carriage-house adjoining the stable above.
In this secret extension, which was so cleverly constructed as to defy detection either from within or without, Patsy now caught sight of half a score of motors lined up against one of the side walls, each of a different make from the others, and all apparently in first-class condition.
“By thunder! this does settle it, and Nick was right,” he mused. “Those are the different cars these knaves have used for their night hold-ups. This exterior basement is only a blind for concealing the other.”
The chief figure that at once claimed Patsy’s attention, however, was that of Jerry Conley.
He had appeared in the secret doorway in response to Badger’s shout, and he carried in one hand a lighted lantern, and in the other a flask of brandy.
“Well, what do you say, Jerry?” demanded Badger, as the other strode out to join him.
“He’s all right now,” growled Conley, setting down the lantern.
“Got him back to earth?”
“Pretty nearly. He’ll be himself in a few minutes.”