“We must make certain—­” began another of the number, when a noise outside of the door caused an interruption.

So interested had Adam Adams become in the conversation that he had not noticed the advance of two burly men upon him and he was not aware of their presence until one pounced on his back and made him a prisoner.

“What’s the row out there?” came from within the room.

“A spy, boys!  Open the door and help capture him!”

Instantly there was wild confusion.  The door was flung open and seven men poured forth, each armed, and all wearing the white head coverings, such as has already been described.

It was a battle of one man against nine and the space was so small that Adam Adams could not turn himself.  He drew his pistol, but while one man held his wrist another wrenched the weapon from his grasp.  Then the detective went down and was severely kicked and pummelled, until to resist further was out of the question.

“He ought to be killed!” cried one man.

“That’s right, kill him!” put in several.

“No! no! not yet.  We must question him first,” said another.

The band surrounded Adam Adams and several pistols were leveled at his head as he arose.

“It’s funny how the nigger got down here—­” began one of the men.

“Nigger?” broke in another.  “He is no nigger.  See how the black has rubbed off his face.”

The men stepped closer and then one of them gave a start.

“It’s the same man!” he cried excitedly.  He turned to another.  “I thought you said—­”

“I did,” was the agitated answer.  “There’s a bloomin’ mystery here.  He couldn’t get out!  He was bound and the door was locked—­I locked it myself.”

“Go and make sure.”

Matlock Styles, for it was he, ran from the room and was gone several minutes.  When he came back he was more disturbed than ever.

“You are right, he is gone!” he gasped.  “Can this be the same man?” He made another examination of Adam Adams.  “Yes, you are right.  Well, he shall not get away again!” he added, significantly.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF MARGARET

“Tom, I tell you the best you can do is to make a clean breast of it and get Uncle Adam to help you.”

It was Letty Bernard who spoke and she addressed Tom Ostrello.  The two were seated on a bench in the park, where they had gone to talk matters over without fear of interruption or of being overheard.  The conversation had lasted over two hours, and in that time the girl had learned many of the young man’s secrets, and in return had told him a few things which had astonished and disturbed him.

He was much downcast and with good reason.  For the past month many things had gone wrong with him.  The one bright spot had been Lefty’s love for him, pure and strong, helping him to carry his burdens.