Cervera was peering down from the lighted passage three stories above him, Nick having made a clean drop into the cellar of the imposing residence.

That this entire contrivance was the work of the Kilgore gang, devised while they masqueraded at Cervera’s house, Nick was thoroughly convinced.

“Hello!” Cervera suddenly cried, still gazing down into the darkness enveloping Nick.  “Are you there, Mr. Carter?”

Nick stared up at her, but made no answer.

At the same time he felt quietly over the walls of the well, in the hope of finding some way of escape.

It riled him not a little, the thought of having been so deftly caught in a trap, almost entirely owing to his having been overconfident, an assurance only very natural under the circumstances.

The possibility that this woman might now elude him for a time was also a thorn in Nick’s mind.

“Caramba!” cried Cervera, with a mocking laugh.  “Aren’t you going to speak?”

Still no answer.

“Have you lost your tongue, Detective Carter?  If you don’t speak out, Mr. Smart Fellow, I shall drop something down that will light you up.  I want a look at you, to know whether you’re afoot or on horseback.”

Nick remained in perfect silence.

Then Cervera disappeared.

“The she-devil!” muttered the detective.  “What move next, I wonder?”

Again he felt quickly over the walls of the well, in the hope of finding some avenue of escape.

With a thrill of satisfaction, he now discovered one of the vertical strips of iron which are attached to two opposite walls of an elevator well, to steady the car and serve as slides for it to run upon.  These iron strips are usually regularly notched to the depth of an inch or more, for the admission of an automatic break in the event of the rope parting.

“By Jove! this is not so bad,” thought Nick.  “It might serve for a ladder.

“To climb three stories with the tips of one’s fingers and toes, however, and by means of a notched iron on the bare face of a wall, is a herculean and hazardous undertaking.”

While he stood, measuring the altitude with his eyes, Nick heard Cervera returning.

Then a great bunch of flaming paper came flying down the well, and the detective was forced to leap aside to escape it.

She-devil, indeed, Cervera had set fire to a crumpled newspaper, with which to illuminate the bottom of the well.

“Ah, there you are!” she exultingly cried, on discovering Nick in the glare of the light.  “On your feet, eh?  You were lucky to escape, Detective Carter.”

“And you’ll be lucky if you escape Detective Carter,” sternly retorted Nick, quickly stamping out the fire.  “I’ll finally land you, my crafty young woman, though I lie awake nights to devise a way.”

Cervera gave vent to a shrill, vindictive laugh.

“Do you think you can do it?” she demanded, mockingly.