et light as well as his pistol had been taken from him.
Whatever was to be done, must be accomplished in the darkness, and once
more he set out on his tour of exploration, but this time with added
caution.

It was not long before he found a place where the cellar sloped
downward. At the end was a semi-circular opening, not unlike a huge
drain.

"I'll follow this and see where it leads to," he told himself, and went
ahead a distance of thirty feet, when he found himself wading into
water that was fairly clean and sweet.

"I must be close to the river now," he reasoned. "I wonder if I can
swim out to the stream?"

He hesitated for a minute and then resolved to make a dive for liberty.
Down he went into the water and plunged along until he was over his
head. Then he struck out as well as circumstances permitted. It was a
truly perilous thing to attempt, but the detective was on his mettle
and desperate.

Twenty feet were passed and then the force of the water seemed to drive
him upward. There was now no turning back, and holding his breath with
difficulty, he swam on and on, rising steadily until his head struck an
iron obstruction. He put up his hands and found that it was a grating.
Opening his eyes he made out that the grating was less than three
inches from the surface of the river. Beyond he could see the open sky
and the stars shining brightly.

With might and main he tried to push the grating aside. It refused to
budge, and he grew frantic, for his breath was fast leaving him. It
looked as if he would be drowned like a rat in a trap.

Desperately and with all of his remaining strength he threw himself at
the grating. It bent at one end and came loose. Then he made another
attack and the grating dropped to one side and his body shot upward to
the surface of the river, out into the life-giving air. He gasped,
spluttered, almost tumbled down again, and then staggered to the shore,
which was close at hand. He had been under water less than three
minutes, yet the time had seemed an age.

He sat on the grassy bank for a long time, trying to get back his
strength and wondering what he had best do next. All was silent around
him, saving for the hooting of some owls and the occasional far-off cry
of a whip-poor-will. He gazed around, but not a light was in sight.
The old mill was beyond him, partly screened by a number of trees.

Should he return to the vicinity of Matlock Styles' house and set a
w