Springing toward him, the masked man stopped two feet from the bound Jim Farland. "So you think you know me, do you?" he snarled. "I have a pretty good idea," Farland said. "There are only a few men in the city, to my knowledge, who could be hired to do work like this, and it occurs to me that I have seen those hands of yours before. I think your face is in the rogues' gallery, too, if you want to know!" The masked man retreated for a few feet, evidently relieved. "So you'll not make terms with me," he said. "You'd rather work for Sidney Prale, would you? Perhaps we can change your mind." "I doubt that like blazes!" "You are going to be kept here as a prisoner until I decide what is to be done with you." He crossed over to the door, opened it, and called to his men, two of whom responded. "I want this man guarded well," he said. "I want you to understand that I am holding you responsible for him. I'll be back to-morrow evening and have another talk with him. Give him something to eat now and then, and fix him so he can sleep, but watch him all the time!" "I was figurin' on goin' to the city this mornin', boss," one of the men spoke up. "You'll do as I say!" the masked man cried. "But----" "Don't argue with me, you dog!" Farland saw the man's eyes flash fire for a moment. And then the masked man faced toward him again, his eyes glittering through his mask. "Sometimes it isn't healthy to know whose picture is in the rogues' gallery!" he said. He went from the room. After a short argument one of the men remained to guard Farland, and the other went away. Farland spent a night of agony. His guards fixed the bonds so that he could be a bit more comfortable, and yet he got little sleep. Jim Farland was considering a big idea now. He had thrown the masked man off guard by intimating that he might be a crook with a record, when, as a matter of fact, the detective did not believe him to be anything of the sort. Now Farland knew where to begin working, but he had to win his freedom first. Night passed, morning came, and the long day of agony began. Farland had his hands untied and was given some food. Then his wrists were lashed again and his ankles loosened, and he was allowed to walk around the room for an hour or so, two of the men watching him closely. The one to whom the masked man had applied the epithet, "dog," appeared surly. After they had bound him again and stretched him upon the couch, they guarded him one at a time, evidently secure in the belief that he could not escape. Jim Farland thought a day never had seemed so long. All the time he was busy with his thoughts. He had a plan of campaign outlined now; he wanted to be at work. Once more the evening came. Farland, who had been sleeping for a few minutes, awoke and turned over to find that his guard had been changed again. The man who had been called a dog was on duty. "How long are you going to keep me tied up like this?" Jim Farland asked.