“Either they must have succeeded in getting out after the first shot and so escaped the fumes,” muttered Garrick finally, “and hid in the stable, or, perhaps, they were out there at work anyhow.  Still that makes little difference now.  They must have seen us go in, have followed us quietly, and then caught us here.”

With a hasty final imprecation, the car below started forward with a jerk and was swallowed up in the darkness.

CHAPTER XXII

THE MAN HUNT

Here we were, locked in a little room on the top floor of the mysterious house.  I looked out of both windows.  There was no way to climb down and it was too far to jump, especially in the uncertain darkness.  I threw myself at the door.  It had been effectually braced by our captors.

Garrick, in the meantime, had lighted the light again, and placed it by the window.

Forbes, now partly recovered, was rambling along, and Garrick, with one eye on him and the other on something which he was working over in the light, was too busy to pay much attention to my futile efforts to find a means of escape.

At first we could not make out what it was that Forbes was trying to tell us, but soon, as the fresh air in the room revived him, his voice became stronger.  Apparently he recognised us and was trying to offer an explanation of his presence here.

“He kidnapped me—­brought me here,” Forbes was muttering.  “Three days—­I’ve been shut up in this room.”

“Who brought you here?” I demanded sharply.

“I don’t know his name—­man at the gambling place—­after the raid--said he’d take me in his car somewhere—­from the other place back of it—­last I remember—­must have drugged me—­woke up here—­all I know.”

“You’ve been a prisoner, then?” I queried.

“Yes,” he murmured.

“A likely story,” I remarked, looking questioningly at Garrick who had been listening but had not ceased his own work, whatever it was.  “What are you going to do, Guy?  We can’t stay here and waste time over such talk as this while they are escaping.  They must be almost to the road now, and turning down in the opposite direction from Dillon and his man.”

Garrick said nothing.  Either he was too busy solving our present troubles or he was, like myself, not impressed by Forbes’ incoherent story.  He continued to adjust the little instrument which I had seen him draw from his pocket and now recognised as the thing which looked like a telephone transmitter.  Only, the back of it seemed to gleam with a curious brightness under the rays of the light, as he handled it.