n, his eyes glittering through his mask.

"Sometimes it isn't healthy to know whose picture is in the rogues'
gallery!" he said.

He went from the room. After a short argument one of the men remained to
guard Farland, and the other went away. Farland spent a night of agony.
His guards fixed the bonds so that he could be a bit more comfortable,
and yet he got little sleep.

Jim Farland was considering a big idea now. He had thrown the masked man
off guard by intimating that he might be a crook with a record, when, as
a matter of fact, the detective did not believe him to be anything of
the sort. Now Farland knew where to begin working, but he had to win his
freedom first.

Night passed, morning came, and the long day of agony began. Farland had
his hands untied and was given some food. Then his wrists were lashed
again and his ankles loosened, and he was allowed to walk around the
room for an hour or so, two of the men watching him closely. The one to
whom the masked man had applied the epithet, "dog," appeared surly.

After they had bound him again and stretched him upon the couch, they
guarded him one at a time, evidently secure in the belief that he could
not escape. Jim Farland thought a day never had seemed so long. All the
time he was busy with his thoughts. He had a plan of campaign outlined
now; he wanted to be at work.

Once more the evening came. Farland, who had been sleeping for a few
minutes, awoke and turned over to find that his guard had been changed
again. The man who had been called a dog was on duty.

"How long are you going to keep me tied up like this?" Jim Farland
asked.

"Don't ask me. Ask the high and mighty boss," was the sneering reply.

"You don't seem to stand very high with him."

"Aw, he makes me sick sometimes."

"It'd make me sick, too, if anybody called me a dog," Farland declared.

The man before him did not reply to that, but Farland could see the
anger burning in his face.

"Come closer," Farland whispered.

The man obeyed instantly.

"Can anybody overhear what I say to you?"

"No. Everybody's gone--but they'll be back soon."

"Why are you working for these people?"

"Coin, of course--and precious little of it I've seen so far," was the
reply.

"Then you haven't any other interest in this business? Maybe we can make
a deal."

"What sort of a deal?"

"The man I work for is worth a million," Farland said. "Help me escape,
and I'll give you five hundred dollars