“That talk is my regular stock in trade, that I hand out to all the inquisitive people who come up here askin’ fool questions,” he explained; “you ain’t expected to understand it; nobody can. I don’t understand it myself; but it sounds good.” Tim Benson smiled. Such work was of a kind that _he_ could appreciate. “Throw anything that seems to be high-browed at the average man,” he said, “and he’s ready to think that you know everything.” “Same as you did to Matt Shepard, eh?” said Uncle Sam. “There was nerve for you, gents--the clear, wire-coated, fibrous article. I think I have some nerve myself; but Benson seems to hold the medal right now.” Benson was flattered, and smiled. The blond-haired man pushed on the hidden panel, and swung open the door leading into the black hole; then he took up his lamp again, and led the way into it. “Right at my heels, gents. There’s nothin’ in here to bite ye.” They crowded in after him, and he closed the door; then led the way to where, at one side of the room, the baron lay tied hand and foot. At the other side was the woman, tied in the same way. “The Dutchman was ragin’ round so at one time that I had to anchor him to the wall, as you can see,” he said. “Trust me, gents, to keep him; I’ll do it if I have to kill him!” A rope passed round the baron’s rotund body held him to the wall. “Ach!” he spat at them as the light was flashed in his face. “Go avay!” “How are ye feelin’, Dutchy?” asked the man of the blond hair, laughing down upon him. “Uff I effer gidt dese t’ings off uff my handts, I vill keel you!” the baron howled at him. “You see how gentle and tame he is, gents!” said Uncle Sam. “I don’t know but I’ll have to put a gag in his mouth, to keep him from biting himself.” “Vhen I gidt oudt uff dhis,” the baron snarled, “I vill shoodt you yoost so full uff holes dot you vondt holdt vhisky any longker.” “Wow! He thinks, Gabie, that I’m a steady patron of your bar. You might disabuse his mind of so unflattering an idea.” The men stood looking at the baron. “Go avay!” he shouted at them. They moved over to the side of the woman, though not because he had ordered them off. Under the light of the lamp she looked pale and worn; but perhaps that was largely because the paint had come off her face. “The light hurts my eyes,” she urged. Gopher Gabe turned on his heel. “Oh, they’re all right,” he said. “We’ll go back into the house and have a talk now.” “You wouldn’t want to see where I’ve cached some of the gold I’ve been gettin’ by my secret process?” asked the Fool. Williams perked up his head, showing his thieving interest; but the others, particularly Gopher Gabe, did not seem so interested. “I think I won’t show it--now,” said Uncle Sam. “Williams looks as if he’d like to steal it.” “Is that an insult?” asked Williams, bristling. “Only the truth, Williams.”