"You saw what was goin' on?" asked Wily breathlessly.
"Even so, sahib," answered the other, in a low tone.
"I'm in luck to find you here. Wasn't intendin' to blow in at this place till night—but any port in a storm. Pick him up and let's get away somewhere."
"The kitchen, sahib."
Between them, the unconscious king of the motor boys was lifted and carried into the kitchen.
"Hang it!" growled Wily, floundering through the soot pile; "this won't do. There may be more after me. There's another place, under the stairs. Sharp's the word, now. Carry him there."
Matt was not bereft of his senses for long. There was too much steel and whalebone in his athletic body to keep him steeped in oblivion for any great length of time.
The first thing he saw, when his eyes slowly opened, was a candle planted in the earth.
He was lying, hands and feet bound and a cloth over his mouth, in a sort of pit. Above him were the stringers and boards of a floor.
A few moments passed while he was picking up the thread of events. While he was piecing details together, he heard a light footfall on the floor overhead, advancing and retreating. Later there came the creaking of boards as of some one climbing a flight of stairs.