Having decided that he was not capable of reading the signs there, if there were any to be read, the newspaper proprietor stepped rather aimlessly toward the little garage. Passing around it, he tried the door, and found it locked. While he was tugging at it, however, a sound came to his ears from within, and he paused abruptly, holding his breath. “What was that?” he thought. CHAPTER XXXII. SIMPSON IS FOUND. The sound was a curious, muffled groan, and in a moment it was repeated. “Good heavens!” the thought flashed through Griswold’s mind. “What if Carter has been injured, too, and locked in here?” For perhaps half a minute the newspaper proprietor hesitated, as any man might have done under the circumstances, then he called out in a guarded tone: “Is that you, Carter?” There was no answer in words, but he heard another groan—or, rather, a prolonged and incoherent sound, which suggested a tongueless man’s efforts at speech. “He’s probably injured or gagged,” Griswold concluded. “I mustn’t waste any time.” He pressed against the sliding door some distance below the lock, and found that it gave quite a little. That discovery encouraged him, and, running around the garage, he approached the pile of lumber, and snatched up one of the boards. It was twenty feet or more in length, and about six or eight inches in width. Returning as rapidly as he could, he pressed the door with his hand, and inserted one end of the board in the opening thus made, after which he began to pry at the door. The length of the board made it unwieldy and inclined to bend, but Griswold soon remedied that by pushing in several feet of the board, and then deliberately breaking it off. He thereupon threw the larger piece aside, and, using the smaller, which was now wedged in the door, he drew it out for some distance, and then repeated his prying operations. This new weapon was much more convenient and less inclined to bend. In fact, it proved to be unexpectedly sturdy, and, after repeated attempts, into which he threw all his strength, the millionaire presently succeeded in breaking the lock. The door was then quickly pushed back, and Griswold peered into the interior of the garage. The place was comparatively dark at first, in comparison with the bright sunlight outside, but a further shove at the door let in more light, and revealed a figure propped up against the lower wall. There was a gag in its mouth, its hands were evidently tied behind its back, its ankles were bound, and a closer scrutiny revealed that, in addition, it was tied to the wall in some way so that it could not budge from its place. Almost immediately Griswold saw that it was not Nick Carter—or, rather, the man whom he supposed to be Nick Carter. As he strode forward, however, with an exclamation of pity, he did not recognize the unfortunate, the lower part of whose face was obscured by the handkerchief which was used as a gag.