He rose to his feet, and walking to the door, unlocked it. Gerald followed him. Brand waved him back. "You are not going out," he said. "You will have to wait here a little longer." "Why won't you release me, Mr. Brand? You have got my money; what more do you want?" "Because, my young friend, we might meet a policeman outside, and you might introduce me to him. Do you see?" "Yes," answered Gerald, smiling. "I must therefore bid you good-by in haste. I suppose we are not likely to meet again?" "I hope not." "I quite agree with you." He opened the door and went out into the entry. Gerald heard the key turned in the lock, and sat down to consider the situation. He had no idea how long he should be compelled to remain in the room, but as might be expected, he was impatient to have his captivity ended. Reflecting over the events of the morning, he felt mortified to think that he had fallen such an easy victim to an unscrupulous adventurer. The door was locked, but there was a window. Could he escape that way? He walked to the window and looked out. There was a small yard below, but, as the room was on the third floor, the distance was too great for him to jump or let himself down. Besides, should he do so, he might be taken for a burglar or unauthorized intruder, and stand in danger of being arrested. Possibly there might be some person in the adjoining room—some one whose attention he might attract. He judged that the partition was thin, and that any noise he made would be heard. He began to pound on the wall, gradually increasing the vigor of his efforts. "If there is anybody there he can't help hearing," he reflected. He was soon assured that he was right. In a minute he heard a voice outside his door. It was the sharp, shrill voice of a woman. "What are you doin' there, you spalpeen?" were the words he heard. "Do you want to batter down the wall?" "No," answered Gerald, "I want to get out." "Why don't you get out, then? What's to hinder?" "I am locked in!" "Shure, that's quare! Who locked you in?" "Mr. Brand." "I don't know any such man." It had not occurred to Gerald that his acquaintance of the morning might have given him a false name. "It's the man that lives here, then. He said his name was Brand." "Mr. Turner occupies the room." "Is he a tall, dark man?" "Yes." "Then he's the one that lured me here, robbed me of my money, and then left after locking me in." "Oh, my gracious! I didn't think he was such a man!" "Can you open the door? Have you a key?" "Yes, but it is the key of my own room. I don't think it will fit." "Try it, won't you?" asked Gerald, anxiously. The key was thrust into the lock, but it would not open it. "No, it won't fit," said the woman. This was discouraging. "Won't you ask the landlady to open the door?" asked the young prisoner. "Probably she has a key that will open it." There was a step heard on the stairs.