There was no more need for silence, and Corson and I reached the landing just as a door opened that let the light stream from within. Two men had sprung to the doorway, and another could be seen faintly outlined in the dark hall. “Holy Mother! it's the cops!” came in an awe-stricken voice at the sight of Corson's star. “Right, my hearty!” cried Corson, making a rush for the man, who darted down the hall in an effort to escape. The two men jumped back into the room and tried to close the door, but I was upon them before they could swing it shut. Four of my men had followed me close, and with a few blows given and taken, the two were prisoners. “Tie them fast,” I ordered, and hastened to see how Corson fared. I met the worthy policeman in the hall, blown but exultant. Owens was following him, and between them they half-dragged, half-carried the man who had given the alarm. “He made a fight for it,” puffed Corson, “but I got in wan good lick at him and he wilted. You'll surrinder next time when I tell ye, won't ye, me buck?” “Aren't there any more about?” I asked. “There were more than three left in the gang.” “If there had been more of us, you'd never have got in,” growled one of the prisoners. “Where's Barkhouse?” I asked. “Find him!” was the defiant reply. We began the search, opening one room after another. Some were sleeping-rooms, some the meeting-rooms, while the one we had first entered appeared to be the guard-room. “Hello! What's this?” exclaimed Corson, tapping an iron door, such as closes a warehouse against fire. “It's locked, sure enough,” said Owens, after trial. “It must be the place we are looking for,” I said. “Search those men for keys.” The search was without result. “It's a sledge we must get,” said Owens, starting to look about for one. “Hould on,” said Corson, “I was near forgetting. I've got a master-key that fits most of these locks. It's handy for closing up a warehouse when some clerk with his wits a-wandering forgits his job. So like enough it's good at unlocking.” It needed a little coaxing, but the bolt at last slid back and the heavy doors swung open. The room was furnished with a large table, a big desk, and a dozen chairs, which sprang out of the darkness as I struck a match and lit the gas. It was evidently the council-room of the enemy. “This is illigant,” said the policeman, looking around with approval; “but your man isn't here, I'd say.” “Well, it looks as though there might be something here of interest,” I replied, seizing eagerly upon the papers that lay scattered about upon the desk. “Look in the other rooms while I run through these.” A rude diagram on the topmost paper caught my eye. It represented a road branching thrice. On the third branch was a cross, and then at intervals four crosses, as if to mark some features of the landscape. Underneath was written: “From B--follow 1 1-2 m. Take third road--3 or 5.”