The next moment his startled eyes encountered an object on the floor that caused him to drop the match from his nerveless fingers and fall back gaspingly against the wall.
[CHAPTER II.]
DON RAMON ORTEGA.
The object which had so startled the Dutch boy was the figure of a middle-aged man, sprawled at full length on the floor matting. His hands were secured behind him and his feet were bound at the ankles with twisted towels. Over the lower part of his face another towel had been tied, thus effectually preventing outcry.
Carl's own troubles faded into the background. As he slowly got the whip hand of himself, he struck another match and stepped to the man's side. The man gurgled incoherently behind the gag and his dark eyes pleaded for immediate release.
"Dere iss some dricky pitzness here, you bed you!" exclaimed Carl. "Don'd be schared oof me," he added to the man, "I vas a friendt, und I vill helup you. Schust vait a leedle undil I ged some pedder lighdt as vat I haf."
There was an oil lamp on a table, and Carl stepped to it and applied a match to the wick. In the glow that presently flooded the room, the Dutch boy returned to the man, knelt down beside him and removed the towels.
"Ay de mi!" stuttered the man, attempting to rise and falling helplessly back again.
"Vas you hurt some blace?" asked Carl solicitously.