“Great Scott! there are six, at least,” he said to himself. “I’m up against more of a gang than I expected. Where the deuce are they going?” The car had passed a side door and was rounding a rear corner of the house. Chick crept out from his concealment far enough to see that it had stopped directly back of the dwelling. Presently, too, he saw four of the men alighting--for he naturally supposed that all of them were men. One of them hastened to open a bulkhead door leading into the cellar. The chauffeur extinguished the lights of the car. Then a cry came from Dacey, as he returned from the cellar with a lighted lantern. “All ready for them, Martin,” he said curtly. “Lend a hand, Sheldon. You stand aside, Floyd, and hold this lantern; we can lift them out and lug them into the cellar. We’ll lock them in the laundry till we have settled this business. I’ll send Sarah to bed, though she’s as deaf as an adder.” “Would she squeal, Jim, if she knew?” questioned Kate Crandall. “Never a squeal,” Dacey declared. “But she’s best out of the way, for all that.” “By Jove, that was a woman’s voice, as sure as I’m over seven,” thought Chick, when he heard Kate’s question. “A woman in male attire, eh? Great guns! I begin to scent the rat in the meal. This bunch of rascals have in some way got the best of Nick and Patsy. But there still is a third string to the chief’s bow. It’s always safe to bank on one of us.” Chick had not long to wait for his suspicion to be confirmed. He saw Nick and Patsy lifted from the limousine and carried into the cellar, both conscious then, but gagged and securely bound, and Chick stole quickly back to the window he had unlocked. “I’ll get into the house while the coast is clear,” he said to himself. “I’ll find out what business is to be settled by these rascals. Then I’ll settle them and their business--or know the reason why!” Noiselessly lifting the window, Chick crept over the sill and stood in a gloomy front parlor, reclosing the window and locking it. There he paused for a moment, listening. He could hear the men inside, the muffled sound of their voices, and the bang of a closed door. “The bulkhead door, or that of the laundry,” he muttered. “Got Nick and Patsy, eh? I must contrive to liberate them. I’ll try to locate the cellar stairs.” Chick did not find it difficult to do so. He tiptoed to the door leading into the hall, which ran straight through the house to a rear door and the kitchen. It was lighted only by a feeble oil lamp and the glow that came through the open door of the sitting room. Pausing, Chick peered cautiously in that direction--then quickly drew back. A door near the main stairway was suddenly opened. Jim Dacey had come up from the cellar and was striding through the dimly lighted hall. CHAPTER IX. THE INNER WHEEL. Chick Carter stepped back of the parlor door and peered between it and the casing, shifting a revolver to his side pocket.