It seemed that the day would never pass, but at length the shadows grew longer and Tom, who had been thrust into a rocky cranny behind a clump of bushes, realized that night was settling down. It would be the second night of his absence from home and he could imagine the anxiety among his friends. “They won’t know what to think,” reasoned Tom. Just before dark another meal was served to the prisoner, and then one of the masked men approached the young inventor with a gag in his hands. “You’ll have to wear this,” he said roughly. “I wouldn’t trust your promise not to yell when we’re crossing the lake. I’m going to fix it so you can’t shout for help!” And this he did, binding Tom’s mouth securely. It was impossible for him to make himself heard five feet away. Then, when the ropes on his legs and ankles were looked to and made more secure, the prisoner was lifted by two of the men and carried to the larger boat—the one in which the scoundrels had pursued the youth. He was laid down, with no great gentleness, on one of the side seats, and a little later, under cover of darkness, the trip from Loon Island to the main shore was begun. Where he was landed Tom did not know—he could not see any familiar landmarks. Nor was he given much time to look about, for no sooner had he been carried out of the boat than he was bundled into a waiting auto and the machine was driven off over a rough road. By the unevenness of the highway and by the damp smell all about him, Tom concluded that he was being taken through the woods. For an hour or more the journey lasted and then he saw that the machine had stopped in front of a lonely house set in the midst of the trees. At the sound of the screeching brakes of the auto a door of this house opened, letting out a flood of light, and a voice asked: “Have you got him?” “We sure have!” answered Kenny. “Anybody been here?” “Not a soul. It’s as quiet as the grave. Take him right upstairs.” Before Tom quite realized what was happening he felt himself being carried up a flight of steps. He knew he was being taken into a small room, which, from the closeness of the air, seemed not to have been opened for a long time. He was placed on a pile of bags, or something soft on the floor, and a moment later his captors hurriedly left, locking the door behind them. “Well, this is worse and more of it!” mused Tom, as he lay still a moment. He was on his back. His position was most uncomfortable and he began to roll over cautiously. He did not know but what there might be holes or trap-doors in the floor. He did not want to fall through. He got over on his side and then, to his delight, he felt the gag loosening in his mouth. By rubbing it on his shoulder he managed to get free of it, and this was a great relief. He could breathe more freely now.