Slowly the adventures of the last few hours came back to his excited brain. He recalled the note, the visit to the house on Hester Street, the fall through the trapdoor and the burning ball. These thoughts came fast and thick; they seemed to contend for supremacy in his brain and he breathed hard. “I must get out,” was his cry. “Woman or tigress, she shall not keep me in this vile place!” But getting out was the puzzle. He circumnavigated his prison like a captive in the dungeons of Venice. He sounded every foot of space, stood on his tiptoes in a vain effort to reach the ceiling, felt the walls again and again and at last gave up. For once at least the famous detective seemed at the end of life. CHAPTER XXXV. A COMPLETE KNOCK-OUT. Meanwhile, Margie Marne was having an adventure of her own, to which we will now recur. In another part of the city, and about the same hour that witnessed the strange explosion in the dungeon where Carter was confined, the girl sat in her little room. She was quite alone, but all the time she was watched by a pair of eyes that did not lose sight of her. These eyes glittered in the head of a man on the floor above, and he was enabled to watch the girl through a hole deftly cut in the floor. All unconscious of the espionage, the girl looked over a few papers which she had taken from their hiding place in one corner of the room, where they would baffle the lynx eyes of a keen man, and now and then a smile came to her face. All at once she heard footsteps approach her door, and for the first time in an hour she looked up. A rap sounded, but Margie hesitated. Should she open the door and admit her visitor? Perhaps it was Carter, whom she wanted to see just then, but a sudden fear took possession of her. At last, however, Margie arose, and hiding the papers in her bosom, crossed the room. Her hand was on the latch, but for all this she still hesitated. In another moment, as if beating down her last suspicion, Margie opened the door. A man stood before her. It was not the person who had offered to protect her from Caddy’s advances, nor was it Caddy himself. As she held the door open the stranger advanced into the apartment and turned suddenly upon Margie. Her breath went fast, and she gazed at the man with half-stifled feelings. “Miss Marne?” he asked in a peculiar voice. “Yes, sir.” “Alone, I see.” “I am quite alone, but I cannot imagine to whom I owe the present call.” “Sit down, girl.” There was something commanding in the tones, which had suddenly changed, but Margie did not stir. “I want to talk with you,” continued the man. “And I prefer to have you seated.” Margie glanced at the door and then toward the window, the eyes of her caller following her, and for half a second her heart seemed in her throat. “I want those papers,” and the fellow, whose face was covered with a heavy brown beard, held out his hand. “What papers?” demanded the girl.