He was so cramped and twisted in his close quarters that he could not draw his revolver without rising up in the hamper, and he knew that the dog would instantly attack him if he ventured doing that. His muscles were so cramped, moreover, that he knew he could not move to advantage for several moments after his release. He realized, furthermore, that the report of his revolver, in case he attempted to shoot the dog, would speedily bring Badger and his confederates to the spot, and that the result might possibly be fatal to himself, or, at least, to Nick’s designs, to corner and arrest the entire gang. So for upward of five minutes the situation hung fire, Patsy waiting and wondering, and the bloodhound still growling and trotting to and fro some six feet away. It was at this time that Badger had his talk with Nick, as already related. Presently Patsy heard Conley returning, accompanied by the two women. Though all three observed the dog, they paid no immediate attention to his movements, but at once hastened into the inner basement and to the vault in which Nick was confined. Patsy inwardly prayed that the dog would follow them, but his prayer proved vain. The bloodhound knew his business. He continued to trot and growl, occasionally snapping his huge jaws by diversion or anticipation, and all the while with his red eyes fixed upon the wicker hamper. Patsy gritted his own teeth in impotent rage. At the end of another five minutes, however, he had decided what to do. He resolved to shoot the dog, taking chances of killing him with a single shot, and then leap out of the hamper and attack, single-handed, the gang in the interior basement. Conley had left the sliding door open after entering with the women, and Patsy thought he could see a tolerably fair prospect of bringing to a successful issue even as desperate a move as that which he now contemplated. Having grimly settled upon the task, he now wormed about a bit in the hamper, striving to free his revolver from his hip pocket. The bloodhound instantly redoubled his growling. “You be hanged!” muttered Patsy resentfully. “I’ll presently silence you with a chunk of lead.” He had succeeded in getting hold of the butt of his revolver. Before he could free the weapon from his pocket, however, the shrill voice of Vic Clayton sounded through the basement, as she and Claudia Badger came hurrying from the inner extension. “What’s the matter with Pluto?” she cried, as she approached. “There’s something wrong out here,” declared Claudia. The instant the dog heard his name mentioned, all the restrained passions and fierce instincts of the brute leaped violently into play. With a tremendous snarling and barking he bounded up at the hamper, clawing at it with might and main, as if bent upon devouring all that it contained. Patsy was taking no chances of losing half of his face in one fierce bite of the brute, and he instantly ducked his head and crouched lower.