Bound hand and foot, with his head rudely bandaged, Nick sat propped against one of four stone walls, evidently those of a small cellar, or possibly a wine-vault, with but one heavy door through which the place was accessible. Only the bare earth was under him, damp and cold, while a small pool of stagnant water in one corner of the place evinced the depressed location of the ground. Two empty beer-kegs stood on end near-by. On one of them a lantern was burning, the rays from which shed only a dismal light over the more dismal scene. On the other keg sat Amos Badger, with his hands on his knees, his lowering gaze fixed upon the helpless detective, and his dark features wearing a look of mingled satisfaction and sinister scorn. It was then well into the evening, and Nick Carter had with some difficulty been doctored back to consciousness, and to a keen realization of his aching head and a most unenviable situation. The restoration had been accomplished by Conley, who was somewhat of a veterinary physician, and it was no sooner done than Badger hastened to interview his captive, an interview only just begun when Nick made the remark which opens this chapter. “Up to me, is it?” returned Badger, with stern complacency. “Up to me to say what shall be done with you?” “I cannot see that anything I say would be of weight,” said Nick coolly. “That’s right—it wouldn’t!” “Not at present.” “No, nor later!” sneered Badger sharply. “You’ve had your last say, Carter, now that we have you in our clutches.” “A very rascally game you played to accomplish it!” “When you go hunting rascals, Carter, you must expect to be turned down by their own methods, if at all.” “That’s right, too, and I was imprudent in not being ready for you.” “You were up against more craft and cunning than you bargained for.” “I don’t need to be informed of it,” retorted Nick, now wondering when, how, and for what reason they had planned the trick. For he knew the assault must have been planned previous to his talk with Vic Clayton that afternoon, or it could not have been so quickly executed, nor the trap itself so definitely arranged. “One fact is now very obvious, however,” he presently added, hoping to lead Badger into some inadvertent disclosure. “What fact?” growled Badger, frowning at him. “Some person informed you of the request I designed to make the Clayton woman.” “Think so?” “Or informed her.” “You’re getting wise fast.” “Otherwise, Badger, you couldn’t have planned the job among you,” continued Nick. “Perhaps not.” “I can come pretty near guessing who it was, too, since Chief Weston is the only man I informed of my intention.” “Most likely he sent a messenger out here and warned us,” sneered Badger, with a grin. “Not he,” retorted Nick. “But there’s a red-headed sketch and outline of a man in his office, Badger, whom I’ll come pretty near rounding up along with the rest of you, when I get out of this hole.”