“When does that steamer sail for Cape Town, ’Africa, dad?”

“Tuesday or Wednesday of next week.”

“Then all we can do is to keep Dick Rover a prisoner until that time.”

“We can’t do it, Dan.  As soon as he is reported missing this whole vicinity will be searched.”

“Do you think they’ll find this cottage?”

“Perhaps, although so far I have not been disturbed.”

“Tom and Sam Rover came pretty close to locating you, didn’t they?”

“They came within half a mile of the spot.  But I gave them the slip.”

“I wish I could square up with all of the Rovers,” went on Dan Baxter savagely.  “They have caused me no end of trouble.”

“Better leave them alone, Dan.  Every time you try to do something you get your fingers burnt.”

To this the son could not answer, for he knew that his father spoke the truth.

A long talk followed, and then Dan Baxter left, promising to return before noon of the next day.  He was to proceed to a town about twelve miles away and there purchase for his father a new suit of clothing and a preparation for dyeing his hair and beard.  With this disguise Arnold Baxter hoped to get away from the vicinity and reach Boston without being recognized.

So far the night had been clear, but now a storm was brewing.  From a great distance came a rumble of thunder and occasionally a glimpse of lightning lit up the landscape.

“You’ll have a bad journey of it,” said Arnold Baxter to his son as the latter was leaving.

“Reckon I’ll have to make the best of it,” answered Dan.  “But I’ve got used to such things, since I’ve been knocking around the ocean and elsewhere.”

Left to himself, Arnold Baxter paced the floor of the cottage uneasily.  Age was beginning to tell upon him and he was by no means the man he was when introduced to the Rovers years before.

“I wish I was out of it,” he murmured to himself.  “I’d give a good deal to be on the ocean this minute, bound for some place where I can make a fresh start.”

The storm kept growing in violence until the cottage fairly shook from the fury of the wind.  There was much thunder and lightning, with some crashing in the woods close at hand, that caused both Baxter and Dick to start in alarm.

Dick was doing his best to free himself and at last managed to get one hand loose.

He had already found that to attempt forcing the door was useless.  Now he tried the walls of the closet and then the flooring and the ceiling.

He was much gratified to find that the boards of the ceiling were not fastened down.  With a great effort he managed to raise himself and after a minute of hard work found himself in the tiny loft of the cottage.  Here the patter of the rain was strong and the water was leaking in everywhere.

“I’ll have to drop to the ground and run for it,” he told himself, and crawled to where there was a tiny window just large enough to admit the passage of his body.