“We had an enemy in our rear, and he set the longshoremen onto us.” “The enemy in the rear was Ramsay.” “Sure,” said Chick. “And that’s one good thing about this little adventure--we have learned that Yasmar is really Ramsay. He has shaved off his beard since we knew him in the West.” “Where was Patsy that he couldn’t take care of Ramsay?” asked Nick. “Something may have happened to the boy. These Westerners weren’t born yesterday.” “They’re clever in their way; but they overshot the mark when they put you and me in the same cell.” “You bet! If I can’t get you loose with my teeth, I’ll write myself down as a has-been. Roll over this way.” Nick rolled toward the point from which Chick’s voice came. As his body turned, he felt something in his pocket. It was his pocket lamp, undoubtedly, and its presence proved that Ramsay and his pals hadn’t had time for a very exhaustive search through their victims’ clothes. “This must be the cellar under Boucicault’s,” remarked Chick, as he twisted his body around until it lay parallel with Nick’s, and directly behind. “When Ramsay and his pals brought us down here,” returned Nick, “they evidently planned that we weren’t to leave until we were carried feet first.” “Ramsay wants you out of the way, Nick, so he can work his million-dollar graft without being bothered.” Chick’s hands were bound behind him, just as Nick’s were, and he had to locate the cords by brushing his face against his chief’s arms. Presently he got to work with his teeth. “This will be a good, long job,” he said, pausing. “Some sailor put on this rope, and the easiest way to get it off is to chew it in two.” “All right,” answered Nick. After half an hour of hard labor, Nick pulled his hands apart and brought them around in front of him. “Now for a little light,” said he. Sitting upon the stone floor, he brought out his little pocket lamp--which was one of the things he always carried with him--and pressed the spring that released the electric current. A shaft of bright light pierced the gloom. Nick flashed the gleam slowly around. He and his assistant saw that they were in a vaulted chamber, perhaps a dozen feet square. The walls and roof were of stone. There were no openings anywhere--that is, none that could be seen. “How the dickens did they get us in here?” asked Chick. “Possibly they lowered us down from the top. There may be a trap in the roof of the vault. Hello! What’s this? A knife, by George!” In sweeping the ray of light across the floor, it had struck upon a gleaming object that lay less than a half-dozen feet away. Nick reached for it. It was a pearl-handled knife, such as gentlemen carry. On a piece of silver set into the pearl there were two initials. “‘W. H.,’” said Nick, reading the letters. “Thunder!” “What now?” inquired Chick. Nick turned the knife over so that the position of the two letters were reversed. “Upside down,” said he, “W. H. becomes H. M.” “What of it?”