And where was Don all this time? While Clarence was tossing recklessly about on his bed, alternating between hope and fear--hoping that matters would come out all right after his night’s exploit, and fearing that something might happen to defeat his plans--Don was passing the time drearily enough in Godfrey Evans’s cellar. The position in which he was confined--he was standing with his back against the stanchion--made it impossible for him to obtain a wink of sleep, and he spent the long, gloomy hours in useless struggles to free himself, and in thinking, not of himself, but of Clarence. How could his cousin escape the consequences of his rash act, unless he could free himself from his bonds, and reach home before his absence was discovered? This was the question that troubled Don; and whenever it arose in his mind, he would work desperately to free one of his hands, knowing that if that much could be accomplished, he could reach the knife he carried in his pocket, and in two seconds more the rope could be cut into inch pieces. But the knots held, in spite of all his attempts to loosen them, and Don finally gave up in despair, and waited as patiently as he could for daylight, telling himself the while that he had done all he could to save his cousin from exposure, and now Clarence must look out for himself. The morning came at last, and Don’s heart bounded with hope when he saw the first rays of the sun shining through the cracks in the door. He was pretty well tired out by this time, and the cords seemed to have grown tighter about his ankles. He began shouting to attract attention as soon as he thought there was any possibility of making himself heard; and when he grew tired of that, he set up a shrill whistle. That startled somebody. It was Godfrey Evans, who now for the first time became aware that there was some one besides old Jordan tied up in his cellar. He recognised the whistle the first time he heard it, and almost overwhelmed with amazement and alarm, started off to tell Clarence Gordon of the astounding discovery he had made. Don whistled at intervals as long and as loudly as his breath would permit--he had grown too hoarse to shout now--and at last, when he had become almost discouraged, he heard hasty steps approaching the cellar. A moment later something bounded down the stairs, and Don saw the nose of one of his hounds thrust under the door. “Carlo!” he exclaimed, so highly delighted that he could scarcely speak loud enough to make himself heard. The dog whined in answer, and standing on his hind legs placed his fore feet against the door, which gave away beneath his weight, and the animal bounded into the cellar. Don’s gaze happened to be directed toward the head of the stairs when this occurred, and there he saw his brother Bert, stooping down and looking in. “Anybody there?” asked Bert, for it was so dark he could not see into the cellar. “Come here and find out,” said Don.