Chester put the muzzle of his automatic to the keyhole of the door and fired.  The lock was blown entirely away, and the door flew open beneath the lad’s weight.

Not hesitating, the lad leaped through the next room and sped into the hall beyond.  He could clearly see that his way now led to the front door, and he made for it at a run.  He grasped the knob and gave a quick wrench, but the door would not open.

He sought for the key to turn it, but there was no key.  Evidently the family, upon going away, had barred it from the outside.  From behind, the boy could hear the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, and he knew that every moment’s delay spelled disaster and almost certain death.

He picked up a chair, and with a single blow shattered the glass front of the door.  He drew the leg of the chair across the ragged pieces of glass left at the bottom, and then, dropping the chair, drew himself up.

Just as he was about to tumble out on the far side, four men dashed up the steps with drawn revolvers.  Chester took in the situation at a glance.  He was between two fires, and escape was impossible.

“Well,” he told himself quietly, “I guess it’s all up with me this time.”

He dropped back inside and faced his pursuers.  Throwing his now useless revolver to the floor, he raised both hands.

“I surrender,” he said quietly.

CHAPTER XXIII.

At the point of death.

Two of Chester’s pursuers approached him warily with leveled revolvers, apparently fearing a trick.  Coming within striking distance, one of them dealt the lad a heavy blow with his fist.  Chester fell to the floor without so much as a groan, unconscious.

When the lad again opened his eyes he was once more in the council chamber of the conspirators.  In the dim light he could discern the masked circle of faces that had gazed at him when he had entered the room for the first time.  The only difference being that there was here and there a vacant chair.

Chester recovered consciousness fully alert to what was going on about him.  He took in the situation at a glance, and a grim smile lighted up his face as his eyes fell upon the vacant chairs.

“Looks like I had done a fair job, at any rate,” he told himself.

His gaze turned toward the chief’s platform.  The chief was there, but his head was swathed in bandages.

“Too bad I missed him!” Chester muttered.  “He is evidently the ring-leader, and to have downed him would have been the proper thing.”

Any further reflections the lad might have had were interrupted by the booming voice of the chief, who now rose to his feet.

“Prisoner, stand up!” he commanded.

Chester arose from the chair in which he had been seated.  His arms were bound behind him and his feet had been tied together; still he found that he could stand.