; and then, getting no answer this
time either, he fumbled in his pocket, fished out his match box, and
struck a vesta.

The glimmering light showed him what the dusk had so successfully
concealed heretofore--namely, the gap in the floor and the underside of
the slab which usually covered the entrance to the underground cells,
but which was now laid back on its hinges with its lower side upmost and
the way to the stone staircase in full view. And in the very instant he
made this discovery there rolled up from that gap the sound of somebody
running away.

In a sort of panic young Clavering made a dash for the trap, and was
through it and down the stone steps in almost no time, the wax vesta
flickering and flaring in the fingers of his upraised hand and sending
gushes of light weaving in and out among the arches of the passage and
the gaping doorways of the mimic cells.

Nobody in sight. He called, but nobody answered; he commanded, but
nobody came forth. And with the intention of routing the author of the
sneeze and the footsteps, he had just started forward to investigate the
cells themselves, when the match burnt his fingers and was flung down
sharply. Darkness shut in as though a curtain had fallen. He fumbled
with the box to get another match, and had almost secured one when he
heard a movement behind him and flashed round on his heel.

"Anybody there?" he rapped out sharply.

"Yes; Cleek, of Scotland Yard!" answered a bland voice immediately in
front of him; then there was a sharp spring, a swift rustle, a metallic
click-click! His match box was on the floor, and a band of steel was
locked about each wrist.

"Good Lord! you've put handcuffs on me, you infernal scoundrel!"
Clavering cried out indignantly. "What is the meaning of this outrage?
What are----Here! chuck that! Confound your cheek! what are you doing to
my ankles?"

"Same thing as I've done to your wrists," replied Cleek serenely.
"Sorry, but I shall have to carry you, my young friend; and I can't risk
getting my shins kicked to a pulp."

"Carry me? Carry me where? Good God, man! not to jail?"

"Oh, no. That may come later, and certainly will come if you are guilty.
For the present, however, I am simply going to carry you to a rather
uncomfortable cell at the end of the passage, and put you where you
won't be able to run away. I am afraid, however, that I shall have to
gag you as well as handcuff you, and make you more uncomfortable still.
But