“Well, not particularly.”

“When I joined this gang, I did it to make money, both ways.  I didn’t join to kill folks.”

“Sure, that’s true.  But the fellow deserves what he’ll get.  He is a spy, and when a fellow spies on the likes of us he takes his life in his hands—­and he knows it.”

“Well, that may be so.  Just the same, I’m sorry I drew the red ball,” went on Number Four.

“Ain’t going to back out, are you?”

“Humph!  How can I back out?  Styles wouldn’t allow it.”

“You bet he wouldn’t—­and none of us would, for that matter.  If I had drawn the red ball I would have done what was asked of me, and no shirking—­and you’ve got to do the same.”

“I ain’t shirking,” growled Number Four.  “I’ll do my duty.  But I don’t like the job,” and then he arose and left the room.

Adam Adams had moved on, too—­down the dark passageway.  Soon he came to a place so narrow that he squeezed through with difficulty.  Here he stepped into a nest of rats, and one bit him in the ankle, causing him to give an involuntary cry of pain.  The rats were all around, and he had to hiss quite loudly to make them keep their distance.

He could now smell the water, and knew he must be close to the river.  Once in the stream, he felt that he could swim to safety.  But he must look our for more traps.

Another turn, and he found the water flowing at his feet.  Far ahead was a faint glimmer of light.  He entered the water and pushed forward.  Then, of a sudden, he came to a halt.  He had heard the sound of somebody rowing.

The small boat passed, and all became silent once more.  Again he pushed on, and presently reached a spot at the edge of the old mill.  He was under a dock.  Close at hand rested a rowboat, with the oars across the seats.

“The boat for mine—­if I can get into it without being seen,” the detective told himself.

With added caution, he waded around to the stern of the rowboat, and peered around carefully.  Not a soul seemed to be in sight, and, with care, he climbed over the stern of the craft.

“Stop!” came a cry.  “Here he is!”

He turned and leaped to the oars.  As he did this, something whizzed through the air.  It struck him on the head, and over he went, across the seats of the boat.  He clutched wildly at the air; and then his senses forsook him.

“Who is it?” came another call.

“That rascal who escaped!”

“It can’t be—­he is in the vault.”

“Come, see for yourself.  Quick!”

Three men came rushing to the spot, and the rowboat was hauled close to the dock.  The counterfeiters pounced upon Adam Adams, and by the time he had recovered his senses, he was again a close prisoner.  Then Matlock Styles appeared.

“He is a wizard!” ejaculated the Englishman.  “But he shall not get away again!  I’ll guard him myself—­until Number Four finishes him!”