On a wooden bench, with a perforated seat, which ran around three sides of the summerhouse, lay a man, unconscious apparently. He was bound hand and foot, and the ropes about his body had been run through the perforations of the seat, as well as around the whole bench itself. Whoever had done the work had used cruel ingenuity to make sure the prisoner should not break loose. “It is not Marcos!” suddenly exclaimed Claudia. Nick Carter first of all pulled from the mouth of the captive a handkerchief that had been tightly fastened about his lips. As he did so, a wedge of cloth dropped from between the teeth. “Is it murder?” asked Chick, trying to look over his chief’s shoulder. “Looks like it,” was Nick Carter’s curt reply. It did indeed look like it, for the victim’s lips were blue, his face livid, and his eyes had closed. The detective cut the bonds with two or three slashes of his pocketknife, and Claudia Solado heaved a deep-drawn sigh. “Poor fellow!” she murmured. “I believe I know who he is. Unless I am much mistaken, he is Marcos’ valet.” Nick Carter knelt by the side of the still figure and listened intently at the chest. A moment later he got up, and took one of the nerveless wrists in his cool, steady fingers. “There is a slight pulse,” he murmured, half to himself. “I think we can bring him around.” Then, louder: “Chick! Give me a hand! Let us put him on the floor. We shall have a better chance of handling him there.” They stretched the unfortunate valet on the floor, where Nick Carter and his assistant applied “first-aid” methods, rubbing his limbs, loosening his clothing, and so forth. Claudia did not remain. She had darted away while the two detectives were taking the man from the bench, and went to the house. In a few minutes she was back, with a decanter and a glass. As she poured some strong brandy into the glass, to give to Nick Carter, he noticed that her hand was bleeding, and commented on the fact. “I couldn’t help it,” she returned. “There was no time to get to the front door, so I broke a glass panel at the side and got in that way.” “You have pluck!” observed Nick Carter, in simple admiration. CHAPTER VI. A CLEW BY WATER. It was not long before the treatment had its effect on the injured valet. The chafing and massage, aided by the brandy, restored him much quicker than might have been expected. He was looking about him wildly when Nick decided that his complete recovery would be accelerated if he were carried into the house. “Give me a lift, Chick!” The two raised the man from the floor, and laid him over one of the brawny shoulders of Nick Carter. The valet was heavy and large, but the detective carried him along without apparent effort into the house, up the stairs, and into one of the bedrooms. “If you can find something warm for him to eat, Miss Solado,” remarked Nick, as they put the man on the bed, “it will help as much as anything. We will put him to bed in the meantime.”