Still, with the caution arising from their previous narrow escape, they decided to wait a little while longer. As later events proved, it was well that they did. For a while they could hear nothing from beyond the door and there was no indication that any one was there. But, after listening intently for as long as five minutes, they heard a queer shuffling sound and then a sigh. That was all. “Some one there!” breathed Frank, in a low whisper. Joe nodded in the darkness. They did not know what to do. It seemed apparent that there was some one beyond the door. Possibly a sentry. If there was only one man it might be possible to attack him and disarm him, although it was scarcely possible that they could do this without noise and without attracting the attention of the smugglers. The problem was solved for them. A door thudded in the distance. Then there was a muffled murmur of voices, growing in volume, and a trampling of feet. “I tell you this nonsense has gone far enough. He’ll sign, and he’ll sign right now, or I’ll know the reason why.” The boys started. For the voice was none other than the voice of the man who had ordered them out of the cove that afternoon. “That’s the stuff, chief!” returned some one. “Make him sign and promise to keep his mouth shut.” “If he doesn’t he’ll never live to tell about it, that’s one thing sure!” snapped the first man coldly. There was the sound of a switch being snapped, and then the boys could see a yellow beam of light beneath the door at their feet. From the sounds they judged that three or four men had entered the room beyond. “Well, he’s still here,” said the man who had been addressed as “chief.” He strode across the room and the boys could hear a chair scrape on the board floor. “You’ll find that this is an easier place to get into than it is to get out of.” A weary voice answered him. The tones were low. The boys could not make out the words. “You’re a prisoner here and you’ll be a prisoner here until you die unless you sign that paper.” Again the weary voice spoke, but, as before, the tones were so low that the words were indistinguishable. “You won’t sign, eh? We’ll see about that!” “Wait till he goes hungry for a few days and then he’ll think differently,” put in one of the other men. There was a hoarse laugh from his companions. “Yes, you’ll be hungry enough before we’re through with you. I can promise you that,” said the harsh voice. “Are you going to sign?” “No,” they heard the prisoner in the other room answer. Who was this man who was evidently held captive by the smugglers in the underground room? The same thought was in the mind of each boy as he listened to the conversation. “You know too much about us. You’ve found out too much, and we’ll never let you get out of here to use your information. You may as well get that straight. You’ve read that paper. If you don’t sign it you will starve.” The prisoner evidently did not reply.