The only thing Chick knew was that, when he had taken the power boat back to its owner, Joe Travers, he was coming up through the grounds of the big residence, and suddenly found himself overpowered by several men whom he could not see. A sandbag knocked him nearly senseless, and then a bag was pulled over his head and he was carried some little distance, until he felt himself in a boat, rocking rather violently. He soon recovered entire consciousness, but found his arms bound so tightly outside the sack that he could not move. There was rather a long trip on the boat, which, from its sound and motion, he soon knew to be a power launch, and then he was made to step ashore and walk up a hill. A ride in a motor car, followed by a short trip in a rowboat, was Chick’s experience. He was thrown into some chamber, the dampness of which penetrated the sack and his other clothing, and sent a chill through him. Before he was left alone the ropes were taken from his arms. He heard a door slam while struggling to get the sack off his head and shoulders. When he did release himself, he did not find that he could see much better, although some chinks of light showed here and there and convinced him that he was in a cellar. It must be remembered that Chick had not seen the outside world during any part of his captivity. The sack was a thick one. Moreover, he had been in a horizontal position in both boats. Even in the automobile he had been compelled to lie in the bottom, with his shoulders resting against the seat. The fact that he had a great deal of room in the car told him that it was a large one. But that was not much to go by. There are many makes of large cars which seem to be identical when one has no chance to look them over. Chick noticed that this one rode very easily. Hence he had reason to suppose it was of an expensive type. Aside from that, he could not have distinguished it from any of half a dozen high-priced motor cars with which he was familiar. “Well, this is cheerful!” thought Chick, as he moved about his cellar and discovered that there was nothing in it but a heap of sawdust and a very moldy smell. “Sawdust, eh? That looks as if it might be an ice house. Let me put on my considering cap, and see whether I can figure this thing out. I ought to be able to do that, even if I have been sandbagged.” He let his thoughts travel back to the moment when he was stricken down in the grounds of Crownledge, and then, bit by bit, put the evidence together until he had pieced it out to the present time. “Let me see!” he murmured. “We had a short ride on a rather rough sea to begin with. There were the short, choppy waves of the Hudson, and they got a little longer after a while. Then they shortened up again. Good!” He did not speak for a few moments, as he digested this, and sought for an explanation.