He wanted a moment to think, and it was essential that he should inhale as little of the ammonia as possible while he decided what to do. The situation was a terrifying one. To a man less courageous than Nick Carter, it might have appeared hopeless. “The window!” he muttered. “I know how I got out of the other cellar, by Patsy helping me from the outside. This time I’ll have to get it open by my own efforts.” He drew from his pocket the heavy jackknife without which he never went out. Included in its tools was a miniature brace and bit. He fitted this for use as he crawled toward the window. With his handkerchief tied over his mouth and nose, to keep out as much of the gas he could, Nick got his brace and bit ready for action and pulled himself to his feet. A few seconds of work bored a hole through the wood. It was old and rotten, and the bit was keen and highly tempered. The hole was by the side of a nail, whose point Nick had discerned coming through the wood. “Two more holes, at the other nails, and we’ll be through,” he muttered. “If only I can hold out so long!” It was a narrow squeak. But when a man is fighting for his life, he’ll keep on against odds, no matter what sort of contest he may have on his hands. Just as Nick felt that he could not bear the awful pressure of the gas on his lungs another instant, he pushed the boards out of the opening. As the ammonia poured out, a rush of fresh air came in. The detective drew it into his system with a joyful gratitude, such as he had seldom felt in all his adventurous life. Only for a second did he stand there, however. Chick was lying on the floor, and though, in that position, he had not been affected so strongly by the poison as he would have been if standing up straight, it had rendered him entirely unconscious. Taking up his assistant in his strong arms, Nick lifted him so that his head rested on the stone ledge, where he got the full benefit of the cool night air from the salty waters. “This is all right so far as it goes!” muttered the detective. “But I don’t want to swim. I’d have to hold Chick up in the water, too. He is all in for the present.” He stared out into the gloom, but nothing could he make out except the dim sky line of the rushes and the banks of heavy clouds which obscured the stars over in the east. It was a desolate scene. So far as he could discern, there were no boats in the neighborhood, and for a moment he heard no sound of voices. Then he caught the sharp accents of Patsy, commanding Pet Carlin to keep still. This was followed by a growling oath that might have been the utterance either of Larry Dugan or Foxey Irwin. “Patsy has all he can attend to,” decided Nick. “He’s waiting for me to come out. I’ll have to bring him around to this side. There is nothing else for it, although some of those blackguards are liable to jump him if he settles down to row.”