“I’ve got to get out of this quickly, if at all!” quavered the boy, staring with wavering eyes at the ever-shortening candle-bit.  “There won’t be anything left to do—­except bear it—­if I’m ten minutes longer at this all but hopeless task.”

After a few frenzied moments of struggle there was another “r-r-rip” behind him—­close to his wrists.

Now, young Benson fought with rage and frenzied strength.  His gaze was ever toward the candle, burning lower.  It seemed as if it must communicate its flame to the paper at any instant.

There came another ripping sound.  Captain Jack Benson, though he could not see, felt something giving around his wrists.  Frantically he squirmed and twisted with his hands.  Then, suddenly, his wrists fell apart—­free!

With an exulting throb of gratitude for this well-nigh unexpected boon, Benson forced himself up into a sitting posture.  He was shaking, now, from sheer nervousness.

Swiftly, tremulously, he felt in his pockets.

“My long-legged friend never thought to take my knife—­probably because he hadn’t the slightest idea I’d be able to use it,” thrilled the submarine boy, as he forced a blade open.

It didn’t seem to take an instant, now, to cut the cords and set his feet free.  Jack staggered to his feet.  The lighted candle had burned down, now, even more perilously close to the paper—­but what did the submarine boy care now?  At the worst, he could easily run from this house which, he felt certain, was untenanted save for himself.

As soon as he could steady himself well enough, Benson bent and snatched up the burning candle from the tinder-like bed on which it stood propped.

“Instead of destroying me,” he chuckled, “this candle will now light me on my way out.”

At the doorway at the end of the room Jack Benson, by some strange chance, happened to remember that slight metallic sound of something falling to the floor while Millard was speaking.  Now, Jack bent over, holding the candle to aid him in his hunt.  Ah!  There it was!  Yet how utterly insignificant—­nothing but a hairpin!

“Trifles often lead to something big, though,” muttered the submarine boy, dropping the hairpin into his pocket.  “I’ve been too much around machinery to despise small things.”

Candle in hand, Jack quickly ascended through the rest of the house, after finding, in the lower hallway, a stout stick that he picked up.  With this club he felt he had a weapon to be depended upon at need.

But there was nothing in the rest of the little three-story house to throw any light upon the habits of Millard, or the place for which that worthy had departed.

In one upper room Benson found a small mirror hung from a nail in the wall.  In this same room was a small trunk, lid up and empty.

Back to the basement Jack returned.  At the rear he found a small yard.  Beyond that a fence, with a gate in it.  The gate was unlocked.  On a nail at the edge of the gateway Jack found a fluttering fragment of gray veiling.