There was an open knife in the young man’s hand.
“It’s the fellow they called Harry!” said Patsy to himself, sitting up now and carefully lifting the body away. “What the mischief does it all mean?”
His memory was returning fast.
He recalled now how he had been carried down to this cellar to be suffocated with gas.
That was early last night.
It was now day, as he could tell from the light at one dusty window.
Besides, the cellar door was open, the one opening into the passage through which he had been taken.
His hands had been bound so hard that he could not loose them, and now they were free!
“How did that hap——”