It was only a matter of seconds before Captain Stone, Kearney and the entire outside patrol rushed in and piled up the stairs. Travers Gladwin had not stirred from where he stood in the drawing-room when Bateato got his instructions. He was intensely excited and feared that some slip might spoil this inspired plan. "Good-by," came a muffled hail from the hallway. Then there was silence both within and without. "Gad, I hope he makes it!" cried the young man and rushed to the window. He had hardly reached there when the stillness was punctured by a crash of shifting gears and the racket of a sixty horsepower engine thrown into sudden, furious action. "He's gone!" Gladwin breathed, as he saw a touring car hurl itself athwart his vision. He recognized his former servant, Watkins, at the wheel. CHAPTER XLII. MICHAEL PHELAN'S PREDICAMENT. It was as if a great burden had been removed from his shoulders. Leaving the window and stepping back into the room, Travers Gladwin stretched his arms above his head and exhaled a long breath of satisfaction. "Now I can sit down and await developments," he said to himself, slipping into a chair and stretching out his legs, "and it will only remain for Michael Phelan to turn up or to fail to turn up and the mystery of the escape is explained. Poor Phelan, he must be a terrific simpleton, and I suppose I am partly to bla"---- His gaze had wandered to the great chest, the lid of which was distinctly rising. Before Gladwin could jump to his feet the lid was thrown back and there sat the subject of his soliloquy in his shirt sleeves, jerking his head about like a jack-in-the-box. "Where in blazes am I?" he groaned as his eyes made out Travers Gladwin. "You seem to be in the chest," replied the young man, covering his mouth with his hand. "Howly murther! me uniform is gone again!" exploded Phelan, struggling to his feet and examining his shirt sleeves as if he feared he were the victim of witchcraft. He climbed out of the chest and turned a vindictive glance upon Gladwin, who composed his features and said: "Not guilty this time, Officer." Phelan stared at him stupidly for a second and then let his arms and shoulders go limp. He was a lugubriously pathetic figure as he turned up his eyes and muttered: "Now, I remember--they took it off me and drugged me an' rammed me into the chest. Wurra! Wurra! I'm a goner now for shure." Gladwin was about to speak when there was a run of feet on the stairs and in burst Captain Stone and Detective Kearney. At the sight of Phelan, the captain recoiled and his jaw dropped. Kearney likewise regarded him in blank astonishment. "Where's your uniform, Phelan?" roared Captain Stone when he could get his breath. "They took it off me--drugged me an' half murthered me--eight of 'em," whined Phelan. "Eight of 'em!" yelled the captain. "There was only one of them, you numskull."