“A pretty fix to be in,” he mused.  “If Styles had wanted to kill and bury me he couldn’t have started out better.  Ha!  What’s that?” He listened and then smiled grimly to himself.  “Rats.  I suppose there are scores of them around this place.  I must see to it that they don’t get a chance to feed upon my body!”

What was the best way to get out?  For some minutes the detective studied the situation.  In one of his pockets he had stuffed the rope taken from his legs, thinking it might come in handy in some way.  He made a small loop at one end of this rope and threw it upward a dozen times or more.  At last it caught on something and held fast.

Being on guard, in case he might fall backward, Adam Adams pulled himself up on the rope.  It had caught on a sharp stone close to the top of the cistern and with an effort he drew himself to the flooring above.

“Thank Heaven for that,” he murmured.  “I must steer clear of such pitfalls in the future.  If only I had a light!”

But his pocket light as well as his pistol had been taken from him.  Whatever was to be done, must be accomplished in the darkness, and once more he set out on his tour of exploration, but this time with added caution.

It was not long before he found a place where the cellar sloped downward.  At the end was a semi-circular opening, not unlike a huge drain.

“I’ll follow this and see where it leads to,” he told himself, and went ahead a distance of thirty feet, when he found himself wading into water that was fairly clean and sweet.

“I must be close to the river now,” he reasoned.  “I wonder if I can swim out to the stream?”

He hesitated for a minute and then resolved to make a dive for liberty.  Down he went into the water and plunged along until he was over his head.  Then he struck out as well as circumstances permitted.  It was a truly perilous thing to attempt, but the detective was on his mettle and desperate.

Twenty feet were passed and then the force of the water seemed to drive him upward.  There was now no turning back, and holding his breath with difficulty, he swam on and on, rising steadily until his head struck an iron obstruction.  He put up his hands and found that it was a grating.  Opening his eyes he made out that the grating was less than three inches from the surface of the river.  Beyond he could see the open sky and the stars shining brightly.

With might and main he tried to push the grating aside.  It refused to budge, and he grew frantic, for his breath was fast leaving him.  It looked as if he would be drowned like a rat in a trap.

Desperately and with all of his remaining strength he threw himself at the grating.  It bent at one end and came loose.  Then he made another attack and the grating dropped to one side and his body shot upward to the surface of the river, out into the life-giving air.  He gasped, spluttered, almost tumbled down again, and then staggered to the shore, which was close at hand.  He had been under water less than three minutes, yet the time had seemed an age.