BY ST. CLAIR BEALL
Author of “The Winning of Sarenne,” etc.

“WE are almost there now, sir; we have passed the last of the lighthouses.”

The speaker and another man were standing beside the cabin of a small steamer; they were clad in heavy oilskins, and were sheltering themselves from the fierce storm that was beating down.

“I don’t see how you can tell,” the other remarked, “or how you can see anything in this weather!”

“Oh, it’s my business,” was the reply of the first speaker, who was one of the officers of the ship. “I have been over this same route for thirty years.”

“What sort of a town is St. Pierre?” inquired the other, a young man, also heavily wrapped.

“It is not of much consequence,” was the answer. “But—but you don’t mean to stay there?”

“No,” was the reply. “I am bound for the interior; I shall take a train tonight, if I can catch it.”

“I should think you would find it rather difficult to get along in this country,” the other remarked. “You say you don’t speak a word of French?”

“No,” was the laughing reply. “I chose German when I was at school, and I don’t know enough of that to hurt me; but where I am going I have a cousin who is in charge of some of the mines, and I suppose I will get along if I can find him.”

“You ought not to have any trouble in that,” replied the officer. “The only railroad depot is very near the wharf.”

The conversation was taking place on board a small coasting steamer, which was making its way slowly through the darkness and storm into the port of the little town of St. Pierre, in French Guiana. The solitary passenger was Henry Roberts, an American, who found himself at last near the end of a long and tedious journey—half by railroad and half by steamer—along the South American coast.

“Four days,” he muttered to himself, “and not a soul to speak to but this one stray fellow-countryman! Between Spanish and French and Dutch my head is in a whirl. Gee whiz! What a night!”

The exclamation was prompted by an unusually violent gust of wind, which flung itself around the edge of the cabin and compelled the passenger to make a precipitate retreat into the hot and ill-lighted interior. However, it was not very long before his impatience was relieved. The vessel was slowing up still more, and he hurried up on deck again, where, from the shouts of the crew, he made out that the dock was near.

“I wish you luck!” said the officer, as they parted. “I have looked up a time-table, and there is a train due to leave in about an hour; it probably won’t start for three or four more, after the fashion of the country, so you will have plenty of time. You ought to reach your destination before morning, however.”

And soon afterward Henry Roberts with a satchel in either hand, made his way across the rickety gangplank and set out as fast as he dared down the unlighted dock. He was gruffly held up by someone who greeted him in French, and left him uncertain for a few minutes as to whether or not he was a highwayman. It proved, however, to be merely a custom-house officer, and after the usual ceremony of tipping had been gone through with, the passenger once more set out.

He was half expecting to be greeted by a row of cabmen, but if any such existed in St. Pierre they had been frightened away by the storm, and he was compelled to find his way to the station by himself. He found only a dimly lighted shed, with apparently no person in sight. To his great relief, however, the train arrived only a short time afterward, and he made his way into the stuffy car, which was lighted only by an ill-smelling oil lamp at one end.

There was another long wait before the train finally started, having on board only one other passenger besides Roberts.

This person was, apparently, either an Englishman or an American—a tall, slenderly built man with an exceedingly pale face. As he came into the car very silently and seated himself at the extreme end, turning away as if to escape observation, Roberts refrained from attempting to open a conversation with him.

Though he did not understand a word of French, he had the name of his station firmly settled in his mind and lost no time in impressing it upon the conductor of the train. When he had made certain that the latter perfectly understood his meaning he sank back in the seat and closed his eyes with a peaceful feeling that at last his troubles were over. The road was, however, a remarkably ill-built one and the car swayed in such a manner that he found it impossible to secure a moment’s rest. He fell at last to watching the other passenger.

This person had at first remained with his head sunk forward as if in thought; but the ride had continued only about half an hour before Roberts saw that his fellow-traveler was looking up and gazing about nervously. Several times he leaned forward suddenly, as if to spring to his feet, but each time he again sank back, and once the American heard him mutter a subdued exclamation to himself.

He seemed to be growing more and more excited. And then suddenly came the climax of the whole unusual performance. The man bounded to a standing position, an expression of the wildest terror on his face. “I can’t do it!” he gasped, in a choking voice. An instant later he leaped forward.

There was a window in front of him, and for an instant Roberts thought that he meant to fling himself from it. But, instead, the man reached for the bell-rope and gave it a fierce jerk.

The effect was immediate, the train at once beginning to slow up. The strange man turned and rushed down the car, his eyes gleaming and his arms waving wildly. “I can’t do it!” he cried again and again. “I can’t do it!”

In a second or two more he had passed Roberts and bounded out of the rear door, where he disappeared in the darkness.

At the same time the conductor, who had apparently been on the engine, came rushing back to ascertain what was the matter. As the two hurried back to the rear platform Roberts managed to make the man understand what had occurred.

“The fellow must have been crazy,” Roberts thought to himself, as he gazed out into the blackness of the night. “At any rate,” he added, “it is not likely that we will see anything more of him.”

The conductor was evidently of the same opinion, for after several minutes of waiting and after a consultation with the engineer, the train was again started and the journey continued.

The conductor signified to Roberts that the next stop was his destination, and a quarter of an hour later he found himself in the midst of absolute blackness. The train had started on at once, and the passenger stood for several minutes uncertain which way to turn, for there was not a house, nor even so much as a platform beneath his feet.

II

At last, however, as his eyes grew used to the darkness, he managed to make out what appeared to be some kind of structure nearby, and toward it he stumbled. It was a small shed, in the shelter of which he stopped.

“Good heavens!” he muttered to himself. “What kind of a town can this be?”

His cousin had unfortunately not known when he was to arrive, and the mines, as he knew, were a number of miles away, so he had nothing to hope for from that quarter.

“Perhaps there is only this shed and the road!” he groaned to himself. “Not even a hotel!”

There was no sign of one, at any rate, and the storm did not encourage efforts at exploration. “Perhaps if I give a few yells it will bring somebody,” thought Roberts.

He reflected that it was as likely to bring a wildcat as anything else, but he determined to risk the effort. He had scarcely opened his mouth, however, before his shout was answered; and at the same moment his ear was caught by the sound of a vehicle behind him.

He waited anxiously. He heard the carriage come to a stop and then a couple of men walking about. They came toward the shed, and he found himself confronted by two dark forms, heavily wrapped as a protection against the storm.

“Bien venu, monsieur,” remarked one of the strangers. He extended his hand, and Roberts, supposing that that might be the custom of the country, put out his own and exchanged greetings.

“Monsieur est arrivÉ?” continued the other. “Un trÈs longue voyage!”

Roberts’s reply to that was only a melancholy shake of his head. “What in the world did I study German for?” he groaned to himself.

“Vous ne comprenez pas?” continued the mysterious Frenchman.

A vigorous shake of the head was the American’s only reply. “Don’t you speak English?”

The only result was likewise a negative shaking of the head, and the American gave a groan.

“I want a hotel!” he exclaimed. “Can you tell me where to go? What in the world am I going to do?”

There was a minute or two more of rather embarrassing silence. Then the spokesman of the two strangers gave a hearty laugh.

“Allons!” he said. “Cela ne fait rien.”

And, to Roberts’s surprise, he stooped down and picked up one of his traveling-bags.

“Allons!” he cried again. “Allons!”

The man took the traveler by the arm and escorted him to the carriage, which had remained standing in the darkness. In a few seconds more the American and his baggage were inside and being rapidly driven off down the muddy road.

“Well, this is an adventure!” thought Roberts to himself. “Either I have come across some charitable stranger or else the hotel here runs a stage—I don’t know which to think!”

During the ride the two men made no further attempt to communicate with him. Roberts heard them speak to each other once or twice in a low voice, but for the most of the time the drive was made in silence.

“At any rate,” he thought, with a chuckle, “it can’t do me any harm, and I shall get out of the rain.”

Before the trip was over, however, Roberts found himself beginning to feel somewhat uncomfortable because of the length of it. “Good heavens!” he muttered, “it can’t be a hotel this distance away, and for all I know, I may be going in exactly the opposite direction from the mines!”

He had already been sitting in the bumping vehicle for an hour when he made that reflection; however, he was given fully another hour to ruminate over it before the drive came to an end. Several times he made an attempt to inquire from the strangers where or how much farther he was going, but his efforts met with no success, and a “Soyez tranquille,” was all he could get, accompanied by a gentle motion of pushing him back into the seat.

He had about made up his mind to trouble himself no further when the carriage suddenly made a sharp turn and came to a stop; one of the men opened the door and stepped out.

There was a few seconds’ wait, during which several voices were heard calling outside; and then suddenly Roberts, who was gazing out of the window with not a little anxiety, caught sight of a light, apparently in the window of a house. Only a short distance from the carriage a flood of light suddenly streamed before his eyes, coming from an open doorway.

He saw several figures moving about, and at the same time the other man in the carriage sprang quickly out.

“Nous sommes arrivÉs!” he exclaimed. “Voici!”

And Roberts lost no time in taking his other satchel and springing out of the carriage. As he did so he found himself covered by an umbrella held by a shadowy form near him, and under the protection of this he hurried up the path and the steps to the house.

By this time more lights had appeared in the windows, and by the single glance which he had Roberts saw that he was in front of a very large building, consisting of at least two stories, and with extremely broad and, at present, brilliantly lighted windows. It was only a few seconds later before he found himself in the entrance, which he discovered to be apparently that of an elegant mansion.

“Good gracious!” he thought, “I wasn’t prepared for a house like this!”

But there were still greater surprises in store for him. He found that on either side of the doorway two domestics were standing, bowing obsequiously at his entrance. The person who had obligingly covered him with the umbrella proved to be an attendant, similarly attired, and as Roberts entered the house one stepped forward for his satchel, and the other took his rain-soaked hat as he removed it; a second later the astonished man found himself being graciously relieved of his dripping overcoat by yet another obliging personage.

In the meantime he was gazing about him; what he saw fairly took his breath away. He was no more prepared for such things than if he had been traveling in the wilds of Africa. He found himself in the midst of a broad, well-lighted hallway, on either side of which opened splendid parlors containing every conceivable kind of luxurious appointment—splendid furniture and tapestry, mirrors and pictures. In the hall he saw a broad, open fireplace, in which a great log was blazing, casting a glow in every direction.

While Roberts was staring at it, and feeling his heart expand with satisfaction, one of his traveling companions carrying the other satchel, had come hurrying into the room. He took off his hat and flung back his heavy coat, disclosing to the American’s view a rather stout and short elderly personage, with a gray beard and an extremely pleasant countenance.

“He looks promising, at any rate,” thought Roberts, “even if I can’t understand what he says!”

The man, after handing his coat to one of the domestics, bowed graciously to Roberts with another “Bien venu, monsieur!” Then he signaled the American to make himself comfortable before the fire, and Roberts lost no time in following his host’s suggestion, as he had been wet and cold for many hours.

“If this is an inn,” the stranger thought in the meantime—“gee whiz! but what will the bill be!”

All his belongings had by this time been carried away by the servants and he was left alone with his obliging host. The latter, after rubbing his hands a few times before the fire and surveying his guest with considerable interest, suddenly demanded:

“Avez-vous faim, monsieur?”

The American, of course, did not understand that, but he comprehended the signal a second later, and nodded his head vigorously. The other called for one of the servants and gave him a command.

The latter signed to Roberts to precede him up the broad staircase which opened into the hallway, and he soon found himself in front of an open door which led into a beautifully furnished bedroom. He entered, and the man followed, closing the door behind him.

Roberts gazed about him with something of a gasp of consternation. Here also was a grate fire, before which his hat and coat had been hung. The rest of his baggage had been brought into the room, and lying upon the bed he found a complete change of clothing, lacking nothing, from necktie down to evening slippers.

Almost before he had half succeeded in comprehending the state of affairs the servant, after several profuse bows, had set to work calmly removing his clothing.

Roberts was not used to a valet, but he concluded to keep the secret as well as possible and meekly allowed himself to be dressed. Half an hour later he was completely equipped, and the servant darted briskly to the door and opened it with an overwhelming bow.

“If this is a hotel, it beats anything New York can show,” was the traveler’s decision by this time. “And if it is not a hotel, it can only be a fairy-story!”

However, without troubling his head any further, he followed the servant down the stairs, at the end of which he found his genial host awaiting his arrival. The latter immediately took his arm and escorted him through one of the parlors, at the other end of which a door was flung open by the servant.

A little dining-room was disclosed to his view—a dining-room so perfect in all its furnishings that it cost him an effort to restrain an exclamation. The table was a small one, but was perfectly appointed, with cut-glass and silver, and there were several small lamps upon it.

There were seats for only two, and after the Frenchman had seated his guest he himself took the other chair. Then a dinner was served which was the first respectable meal the American had eaten since he left home.

He had by this time determined to enjoy himself and let his cousin pay the bill, if necessary; so he made no attempt to restrain his appetite. His host evidently expected him to be hungry after his journey, for he plied him with every conceivable variety of eatables.

“Where in the world can they get them all from?” Roberts thought. “I have been expecting to live on beans and bacon up at the mines!”

To be sure it was rather an embarrassing meal, from one point of view, for the utmost in the way of conversation which could be managed was an occasional exchange of smiles between the two persons. “But if we could talk there might be an end to this state of affairs!” thought Roberts. “And I have no mind to be turned out until daylight, anyway.”

By this time his cogitations over the strange condition of things had resulted in the conclusion that it could not possibly be an inn to which he had come. “It must be some kind of a private house,” he thought. “But what in the world is it doing away off up here in this lonely, God-forsaken country, and what the people want to do with me is more than I can imagine. I can’t help thinking it is a mistake of some kind; and I wonder who can live here—surely, not this queer little fellow, all by himself!”

Roberts had seen no one else except the servants, but this did not seem strange when he came to think of it, for on the mantelpiece was a clock which informed him that it was then nearly two in the morning.

“Perhaps I will find out more when day comes,” he thought. “I am safe for tonight, anyhow, I think.”

And so it proved, for when at last the meal was over, the Frenchman rose and politely bowed his new acquaintance to the door. There he summoned one of the servants, again bowed to Roberts with a “Bonne nuit, monsieur!” and, after shaking hands, Roberts turned to follow the servant up the stairway.

The two made their way into the bedroom which the American had visited before, and where he found that his baggage had been all unpacked and neatly stowed away in a bureau in the room. The servant bowed his departure at the door, which was closed behind him, and then the astounded stranger sat down on the bed and, as the ludicrousness of the situation and the whole proceedings flashed over him, he flung himself back and gave vent to a silent fit of laughter.

“This will certainly be a story to tell if I ever get home again!” he thought.

But he was too sleepy by this time to trouble himself any further, and he rose and prepared to make the most of the opportunity afforded him for slumber. “I guess I will just take off my coat,” he thought, “for I don’t know when the mistake may be discovered.”

As he performed that operation his hand happened to strike upon his back-pocket, where he had safely stowed away a small revolver. “If there should turn out to be anything wrong!” he thought, with a laugh.

All during that evening the man had been racking his brains trying to think of some possible explanation of his strange reception. During the drive he had been somewhat alarmed, but his welcome had served to remove any suspicion of possible danger. But just then, as he gazed about the room, he suddenly observed something which gave a most unexpected turn to his thoughts.

The room to which he had been ushered was a large bedroom, perfectly furnished in every way, and having two broad windows; it was the latter which suddenly caught Roberts’s eye, and as they did so he experienced a start of emotion that was very different from his former state.

He had noticed the startling fact that both of the two windows were protected by heavy iron bars!

For a minute or two Roberts stood gazing at them, scarcely able to realize the full significance of the discovery. He darted a swift glance about the room to make sure that he was alone, and then he sprang quickly forward to test them. He found that they were firmly set in the heavy masonry of the window-sill, and that they were scarcely wide enough apart to permit his arms to pass through.

Then the very decidedly sobered American sank back in a chair and again gazed about him.

“I can scarcely think it means any danger,” he muttered to himself, “for I am unable to think what kind of danger it could be—but yet, it is most extraordinary!”

Suddenly another idea came to his mind and brought him to his feet with a jump. He sprang toward the door, and as he approached it half instinctively he began stepping more quietly until as he neared it he was advancing on tiptoe.

“One of those fellows in livery may be outside,” he thought.

Then he took hold of the knob and very softly and silently turned it. When it was turned all the way he gave a slight push at the door, which opened outward.

And as he did so he felt the blood rush to his forehead and his breath almost stopped. He flung his weight against the door violently, but it did not move. Almost overcome with his discovery, he staggered back against the wall.

“By Jove!” he panted, “I am locked in!”

III

Roberts began pacing very anxiously up and down the floor of the room. He did not continue that for very many minutes, however, before he stopped abruptly and again seated himself in the chair.

“There is something wrong here,” he muttered, “mighty wrong! But I don’t want them to know I have discovered it.”

He sat for several minutes with his head in his hands, gazing straight in front of him, his mind in a perfect tumult. He was absolutely without any possible idea as to what that state of affairs could mean or what object his mysterious host could possibly have in taking him prisoner.

“There is one comfort, however,” he muttered. “Heaven is to be thanked for that!”

He took the revolver from his pocket as he muttered the words; all of its chambers were loaded, and he put it back into his pocket with a slight chuckle of satisfaction.

“I guess they didn’t count on that. They have got me in here, but it’ll be another thing to get me out!”

There was but very little idea of sleep left in his mind. When at last he had decided that there was no solving the mystery with the few facts that he knew, he began stealthily moving about the room and examining everything in it.

Directly at the head of the bed he found a handsome portiere hanging, and as he reached behind this he discovered that there was another door to the apartment.

“Perhaps they haven’t locked that,” he thought. “I wonder where it leads to?”

He slipped in behind the curtain and proceeded to test that door also. He set about the matter with the utmost caution, for by this time he was firmly convinced that it was more than likely that someone was keeping watch outside of his room.

The prisoner had really very little idea of finding the door unlocked; he did not think it likely that his captors would have neglected that precaution, and he was thoroughly prepared to spend the rest of the night in his prison. Such being the case, his surprise and delight may be imagined when, upon turning the knob and pushing softly, he found the door giving way before him.

His heart was thumping with excitement as he made this discovery, and inch by inch he opened the barrier wider. He could see nothing, for the curtain back of him shut out the light from his own room and the next apartment appeared absolutely dark. However, when it was opened wide enough for him to slip in, Roberts stole cautiously forward, and was soon standing on the floor of the other room. All about him was absolutely dark and silent, but he groped around him for some distance before he finally concluded to go back and get a little light.

From a notebook in his pocket he tore several pages, which served him for a small taper; and by this he made the discovery with consternation that the apartment into which he had come was a tiny cell, not more than fifteen feet square. There was a square window, high up from the ground and heavily barred. By the faint light which he had Roberts saw that the walls of the place were all stone, and that the door through which he had come was composed of iron!

“Great heavens!” he gasped. “I am in a fearful trap, as sure as I’m alive!”

He gripped his revolver in his hand, turned, and once more crept back into his own room to wait. However, he found that everything there was as silent as before, and after some little meditation over the problem he removed several more pages from his notebook and set out for another exploration.

He had noticed on the other side of that tiny cell another door, exactly like the first. “I wonder where that leads?” he thought; and this time he twisted his tiny taper so as to make it last longer, and then again crept forward.

He darted across the stone floor and paused before the other iron door. There was a keyhole there through which he could see a light shining, but he could make out nothing by peering through. After pausing and listening for several seconds and hearing absolutely no sound of any kind, he determined upon a bold expedient.

“I am here,” he thought, “probably for good. I am likely to have a fight whenever I try to get out, so it might as well be now as any time, for it will be an advantage to take the other people unawares.”

And his mind once made up on that point Roberts softly turned the knob of the door. As he did so he pushed against it; but it did not yield.

There was another effect, however, one which caused him to give a start of alarm. The sound he had made had evidently been heard, for on the other side he heard a soft exclamation and then a footstep in the room.

“That settles it!” Roberts murmured. “They have heard me!”

He pushed at the door still harder and then gave a savage lunge; but the barrier remained firm, and he knew that it was locked.

At the same instant the sound of moving became much more distinct, and Roberts, without a second’s hesitation, turned and sprang back toward his own room. “It is better to be caught there than here,” he thought in a flash.

But before he had taken half a dozen steps he was stopped by a new and unexpected development. He heard a voice behind him, coming through the crack in the door he had been trying.

“Who’s there?” it cried. “Who’s there?”

And the words were in English!

The voice was a low whisper. In an instant it occurred to Roberts that this might be a friend, a prisoner like himself! He turned and crept back toward the door.

“Who are you?” he cried.

His heart was beating so wildly with the excitement that he could scarcely hear the reply of the other person, who still whispered in a very low tone.

“An American,” was the reply. “Are you?”

“Yes,” said Roberts, “I am.”

“And have they got you, too?” panted the other breathlessly.

“Yes,” answered Roberts, “they have got me. What in the world does it mean?”

“I don’t know,” said the other, “I haven’t an idea!”

“Do you mean that you are kept prisoner here without knowing why?”

“Yes, without the faintest idea; absolutely!” came the breathless whisper from the keyhole. “Don’t talk too loud, or they will hear you, and then heaven knows what fearful things may happen to you! How long have you been here?”

“I only came tonight,” Roberts whispered. “And you?”

As he heard the reply it was all he could do to keep his balance; he clutched at the rough stone wall to sustain himself. The man’s voice was reduced almost to a moan as he answered:

“I have been here twenty years!”

IV

Every drop of blood seemed to leave Roberts’s face, and his head fairly swam.

“Twenty years!” he gasped to himself. “In heaven’s name, what can it mean?”

Those words seemed to him to cap the climax of the night’s experiences, and he stood as he was for fully a minute without speaking or asking another question of the inmate of the other room. When suddenly the silence was broken, it was by the other.

“Are you sure no one has heard you?” panted the man.

Roberts sprang to his feet and crept swiftly toward his own room. He peered out around the front of the bed, but a single glance was enough to show him that the door was still shut, and that there was no longer any sign of trouble. Then once more he came back and stooped before the keyhole.

“Tell me,” he gasped breathlessly, “tell me your story. How did it happen? Where were you?”

“I lived in Caracas, in Venezuela,” the other responded. “I was in business there for years. One day I was surprised in my own house by three men, who overpowered me and drove me away in a carriage. They drugged me in some way or other, for the next time I knew anything I was a prisoner in this room.”

“And you have stayed there ever since?” panted Roberts, almost beside himself with horror.

“For twenty years!” the man responded.

“And you have made no attempt to get out?”

“What good would it do?” cried the other. “They have iron bars for all the windows and they keep my door locked.”

“How do they pass you food?” inquired Roberts. “They must open the door.”

“Why, yes,” the man answered, “they open the door, but what good does that do? There are always a half-dozen men standing in the doorway, and they would overpower me if I made any resistance.”

As Henry Roberts listened to that narrative he could scarcely believe the evidences of his own senses. He had long ago given up any attempt to think what could be the explanation of this extraordinary state of affairs. He made one more attempt upon the door, but that apparently caused the utmost terror to the other man.

“You can’t do it,” he said. “It is locked, and that Frenchman has the key.”

“What Frenchman?” asked Roberts.

“The man who is in charge of this place,” said the other. “The one whose prisoner I am.”

“Is he a short, stout man, with gray hair?”

“Yes,” was the reply, “that is he.”

Roberts shuddered involuntarily.

“Oh, don’t speak of him!” continued the other breathlessly. “He is a fiend! A perfect fiend!”

“What did he do?” panted Roberts.

“I cannot tell you all,” was the reply. “It would be too horrible. He is the master of this place and it is he who keeps me prisoner. On no account resist him or cry out for help—it is utterly useless.”

Roberts felt a grim smile cross his face as he heard those words; he clutched his revolver tightly.

“I will risk it,” he thought. “They will have to open that door to give me some food!”

“They never fail to watch this door,” the voice whispered in response to an inquiry from Roberts. “They will hear me and come in here, and then—then——”

There was an instant or two of silence, during which Roberts waited for the man to continue. But he did not do so. For suddenly the deep silence which reigned through the place was broken by a different sound, one that made the American’s hair fairly rise. It was as if the teeth of the other man were chattering audibly.

“They are coming!” he whispered in a low gasp, as if he were trying to speak but dared not. And then a second later Roberts’s ears were smitten by a loud, piercing scream. He heard the man bound to his feet.

“No! no!” he shrieked. “Stop! You shall not! It was not my fault!”

At the same instant came the sound of several muffled footsteps about the room, and, in another voice, several words which Roberts could not understand.

The agonized screams of the other person grew louder and louder, accompanied by sounds which told plainly of a struggle. They lasted for only a few seconds, however, and then came a crash and all was silent.

During that incident Henry Roberts had remained crouching at the door, too horrified to move, but, as the sounds died away, for the first time he thought of his own peril and was on his feet with a single spring. He turned and dashed across the floor of the cell. But even as he did so he realized that the few seconds’ hesitation had cost him everything.

The curtain of his bedroom was suddenly pushed aside, and a hand reached in to grasp the door. Like a flash Roberts swung up his revolver and leveled it, but before he could pull the trigger the iron barrier shut to with a clang that seemed to shake every portion of the man’s body.

He was a prisoner in the cell!

The American leaned back against the wall, where he stood panting for breath and clutching his weapon, staring about him wildly and striving to pierce the darkness. The effort was vain, however, and the absolute silence that prevailed afforded him not the slightest clue as to what was going on.

He realized with a sinking heart what an advantage he had lost by failing to take possession of the large room where he had a light. But even as he was, with his revolver in his hand, he concluded, after a few swift thoughts, that his case was not entirely hopeless.

“They will have to open the door some time,” he gasped, “and they may not know that I have got a revolver.”

There was, however, the fearful possibility that his mysterious captor might see fit to starve him out. The American realized that he would be absolutely helpless before that.

“But there is a window,” he thought; “perhaps I can shout and attract attention.”

Prompted by that thought, he felt his way along the wall until he reached the opening in question. He raised himself up and peered between the bars; but it was only to make one more discovery. The window was closed by an iron shutter or drop, which resisted all his efforts to move it.

“And I am in here without a breath of air!” he thought.

The whispered words had scarcely passed his lips before the last climax of his mysterious experiences arrived. Suddenly a strange smell attracted his attention, and as he discovered the cause he gave a gasp of despair.

The room was slowly filling with a gas!

Roberts even then fancied that he could hear the sound of it entering through some pipe which he could not find. Every second that certainty was made more and more plain to him, and he darted forward perfectly beside himself with desperation. He flung himself savagely against the iron door, but it seemed to laugh at his efforts. He seized the knob and tugged savagely, but with no effect. He stooped down at the keyhole, hoping in that way to escape the new and horrible fate, but he found that it also had been closed, and as he rushed across the room to the other door exactly the same experience was repeated.

In the meantime he had, of course, been breathing the poisoned air of the tiny cell. The deadly fumes were becoming stronger and stronger, causing him to gasp and his head to reel. Twice more he threw all his weight against the door in vain, and then, clutching the knob to sustain himself, he stood for a second or two, swaying this way and that, gasping and striving to hold his breath to keep out the choking vapor.

Then everything reeled before him, and he found himself clutching wildly in every direction. The revolver dropped from his helpless grasp, and a second later he pitched forward upon the floor of his cell. At the very same instant one of the doors was flung open and a flood of light poured into the place. It was the last thing he perceived as consciousness left him.

V

How long a time Roberts remained unconscious after he had been overpowered in the room of the mysterious house it was impossible for him to say. When his senses returned to him he was in a sort of stupor. As one half awake he became conscious of being carried about by someone.

He was too dazed to think about his situation or to realize what had occurred to him, nor was he even conscious of the lapse of time; but gradually his senses came back to him more and more, to a recognition of his terrible plight in the hands of mysterious enemies in the midst of that wild country.

With what little strength he had he tried to raise himself, and found that both his hands and feet were tightly bound; also a bandage was tied tightly about his eyes, so that he could not see anything. He was too weak to make any outcry, and could only give himself up helplessly to his captors.

Several times he heard people speaking in his neighborhood, but as the language was still French he obtained no clue as to what had happened to him in the meantime.

“At any rate,” he thought, “it is something to be alive—that is more than I expected.”

It was not long after this he was picked up again by two men, who apparently carried him down a flight of steps. By this time Roberts had recovered his wits and was anxiously trying to discover any signs as to his whereabouts.

He heard the door open, and then a fresh breeze told him that he was being carried out of the house.

“I wonder what in the world is going to happen to me now,” he thought to himself.

Again he made an effort to free his hands, but it was of no use with the little strength he had. His head was aching, and he was completely exhausted by the ordeal through which he had passed.

From the footsteps of the men who were carrying him he made out that they were passing next down a gravel walk. At the same time, nearby, he heard what he took to be the stamping of horses. “Perhaps it is the same place where they took me in before,” he thought. However, that did him no good, as he had been brought to the house in the darkness of a stormy night and had seen nothing of the neighborhood.

His surmise was correct, however, for the men raised him and placed him in a carriage. Two of them sprang in and the horses started rapidly down the road.

Then was repeated the same experience as before, the long ride over the roughest of roads. Roberts was completely helpless, and was flung this way and that upon the seat. Perhaps the jarring helped to revive his faculties, however, for when the trip was over he was fully alert.

During the ride the two men who were in the carriage whispered to each other occasionally; but the conversation was in French, as before, and the American could understand nothing. It was a weary journey, but it came to an end at last. The carriage stopped, the two men sprang out, and then again he felt himself lifted and carried away.

“I will pretty soon know what is going to happen to me,” he muttered to himself.

He was taken only a short distance before he was set down by the two men, who stepped aside and held a whispered conversation. Then suddenly he heard them walking away again, and a minute or two later he heard the carriage start. It sped rapidly away, and in a half-minute more was out of hearing, the American being left alone in absolute silence and without any further clue as to what was taking place or where he was.

He lay there for fully half an hour, waiting impatiently for the next development. He grew more and more impatient, and finally summoned all his strength in an effort to free his hands. “Perhaps it will do me no good,” he thought, “but I would like everlastingly to make a fight for it.”

His astonishment may be imagined when, at the very first effort, the rope which bound him parted and left his hands free!

He was scarcely able to realize it for a moment, and lay with his hands still behind his back, trying to grasp the fact that he was at liberty, or partially so, at any rate. His heart gave a great bound of joy. There was no doubt, however, that his enemies were nearby, and the thought made him cautious.

Slowly and silently he raised his hands to his head and grasped the handkerchief which still bound his eyes. It was only loosely tied, and a single pull was sufficient to remove it. The eagerness with which he glanced about him may be imagined. The first sight that met his eyes was the stars; then, realizing that in the darkness he was not so likely to be observed, he bent swiftly forward to the rope that bound his feet.

This, too, he found but loosely tied, and it took him but a few seconds to loosen it, after which he turned his head anxiously and glanced about him. He found himself, apparently, in the midst of an open country, in the shadow of a tall tree. What surprised him most of all was the fact that he saw nothing to indicate that anyone was near.

“They do not seem very careful to guard me,” Roberts thought, “after all the pains they took to capture me.”

However, there was no time to spend in debating that question. His only thought was to make the most of his opportunity and escape from that spot as quickly as possible.

He raised himself and began silently to make his way along the ground. He was still weak, but for all that he managed to make good time. As he crept along he found that he was on a road, and his first impulse was to reach the thicket at one side. Once in the shade of this he rose to his feet, considerably emboldened by his success. He still saw no one and heard no sounds to indicate that his escape had been discovered, so he set out somewhat more boldly, creeping through the underbrush.

He was almost beside himself with delight at his sudden and unexpected good fortune. He knew that every step he took was carrying him more and more to safety, for the nature of the country told him that it would be almost impossible for his enemies, whoever they might be, to find him again. “It was a terrible experience,” he thought to himself. “This end of it seems almost like an anti-climax.”

When he was far enough away to be sure that there was no danger of his steps being heard he broke into a run, nor did he stop until he was completely exhausted.

By that time he knew that he had put fully half a mile of the dense jungle between himself and any possible pursuers. He sat down on the ground to recover his breath and think over the strange situation.

“Perhaps I shall never come to an explanation,” he thought, “or find out what that strange Frenchman wanted with me.”

As he turned the matter over in his mind, however, there was one thing about which he made up his mind definitely, and that was that if he ever succeeded in reaching his cousin, he would never cease his efforts to find out all about that mysterious house, and to inform the proper authorities about the unfortunate captive who was detained there. “I guess I will have a hard time finding him, though,” Roberts thought. “Perhaps I have only exchanged one danger for another, as I have pretty well lost myself in this thicket.”

It was just then he chanced to notice that a heavy package had been stuffed into one of the pockets of his coat. He found it was a paper parcel, which he took out and examined with not a little curiosity. He found that his enemies, as if anticipating his escape, had provided him with a supply of food!

Again he put his hand to his pocket, and, discovering something else, proceeded to examine it. There were two pieces of paper, and he struck a match to examine them. One, as he found to his utter consternation, was a French bank-note of the value of five hundred francs!

That discovery almost overwhelmed him. He sat gazing in silent wonder at the paper until the match went out. Then he struck another and proceeded to examine the other piece of paper, which he found was a note addressed to him in English:

Sir—It was all mistake. We thought you were somebody other. We are sorry. We inclose money to pay you for your time and loss of——

As Roberts read the last word he gave a gasp. Then he swung his hand up to his head and found to his horror that the statement of the letter was only too true. The word was hair, and every particle of it had been shaved from his head!

If anything had been needed to complete Roberts’s amazement at his strange adventure, this would have done it. He sat where he was for fully five minutes, alternately feeling for his missing locks and examining the bank-note and the lunch.

“All a mistake!” he muttered to himself. “Took me for someone else!”

The first thought that came to Roberts after that was a renewal of his resolution to probe the mystery to the bottom.

“Mistake or no mistake,” he thought, “those villains intended a horrible fate for someone—and they have got that other wretched prisoner in there yet. I am going to find out what it means or die in the attempt!”

And it was with determination in his mind that Henry Roberts at last raised himself to his feet once more. He tucked the note and bank-bill away in his pocket and wrapped up the food.

“At first, I thought it might have been poisoned,” he observed, “but I guess that is not very likely under the circumstances. It may come in very handy, for all I can tell.”

He had now made up his mind that there was no longer any chance of his being pursued, and he saw very plainly that his enemies had taken him to the lonely spot and left him with the intention of allowing him to free himself, as he had done.

“However, they probably took pains to lose me,” he thought, “so that I could not come back to revenge myself.”

As this thought entered his mind, Roberts instinctively put his hand to his back-pocket where his revolver had been. Sure enough, he found that it had not been returned to him.

“A wise precaution!” he muttered.

His first purpose now was, of course, to get back to the road, so that he might find some kind of habitation.

“I must get to the mines, and get my cousin to help me,” he thought.

The task seemed likely to be a difficult one, for in the darkness Roberts had no way of telling which way he had come. It was by no means a pleasant prospect, that of getting lost in the jungle country.

“If I had only thought to examine my pockets before I did all that running!” he exclaimed.

He could not help laughing at the thought of his wild dash and the extreme caution and anxiety with which he had freed himself. However, his amusement did not last very long; for once more the terrified cries of the unfortunate prisoner crossed his mind. The last words which he had heard from the man were still ringing in his ears.

“Twenty years!”

He started to make his way back through the jungle in the direction where he hoped to find the road he had left. He trudged on for a considerable time, getting more and more involved in the tangled vines of that swampy region. Finally he concluded that there was nothing else for him to do but wait until the dawn. There was no means of telling what wild animals might be near, and he was haunted with the fear of disturbing some serpent. At last he determined on climbing one of the high trees. From this vantage point he found that he had not much longer to wait. Already the first streaks of dawn were visible in the east.

His tree was one of the tallest in the dense forest, and as soon as it was light he caught sight of a slight opening in the trees, where he discovered the long-sought road, winding up the hillside in front. Without a minute’s hesitation he climbed to the ground and set out through the thicket. No shipwrecked mariner was ever more relieved at the sight of land. “If I get to the road, I am pretty sure to find someone in the end.”

Twice he took the precaution to climb a tree to make sure that he was on the right track, and at last he came out upon the thoroughfare. A single glance was sufficient to tell him that a carriage had passed over it since the recent heavy rain, and he concluded that this was the road over which he had been taken.

He sat down for a short while to rest and think over the situation. “I am going to set out and walk until I come to some place,” he decided finally. “The only question is in which direction to go.”

He had nothing to guide him, and he finally decided haphazard and set out tramping. He found out that the fresh air and the excitement of his escape had served to remove almost all the effects of his recent unpleasant experience.

“I have lost nothing,” he thought, “except my hair and my baggage!”

The latter had been taken into the mysterious house, and that was the last Roberts had seen of it; as he thought the matter over, however, he concluded that in all probability the Frenchmen had left it with him when they drove away. “And I ran away and left it!” he laughed. “Anyway, I have got a hundred dollars to pay for it.”

The road was so rough as to be almost as difficult as the thicket. Winding in and out through the dense jungle, sometimes completely covered by the interlacing trees and vines, it seemed as if it might run on forever.

“But there must be some house along it!” the man muttered grimly. “If I can only find somebody to direct me to the mines!”

The sun rose until at last it was beating down fiercely upon the traveler. It was long after high noon when at last he made out the first sign that he had gained anything by his mountain journey. There came one hill much higher than the rest; as he reached the summit and glanced around him, he saw a slender column of smoke rising from the midst of the dark trees.

“A house at last!” he cried, and set swiftly forward.

He kept his wits about him, however, not forgetting that he was in the midst of a strange country. As he descended the hill the smoke passed out of sight, and he did not again observe it until he was almost upon the house from which it proceeded.

He took the precaution to turn from the road and make his way through the thicket, where the tropical vegetation was so dense about him that he could see nothing in front of him even, when various sounds led him to believe that he was almost upon the house. And so it was that suddenly, without the slightest warning, he came to the end of the bushes, and the building rose before his very eyes.

From a spot a few yards to one side the road still stretched onward, but it had broadened out into a smooth avenue, lined on either side with great forest trees. Beneath them was a well-kept lawn, and perhaps a hundred yards beyond at the end of the avenue was a building, a great mansion, three stories high, and built of handsome stone.

A single glance at it, and the American staggered back with a gasp. It was the house of his recent adventure!

VI

Roberts’s first impulse was to spring back into the bushes and crouch down to prevent his being observed. There he lay peering out and watching the scene.

There was no doubt about the house being the same one, for besides the improbability of there being two such houses in that dense wilderness, he had seen from the lights the general outline of the house on the night he had been first taken there. If he had any doubt, a discovery he made a short time after was sufficient to remove it.

Two sides of the great structure were visible to him from where he was, and he saw that all the windows were protected with iron bars!

He ran his eye over the whole building with considerable curiosity. Except for the bars above mentioned, it was a most inviting-looking structure, having broad piazzas around it covered with vines and growing plants and a beautiful garden in front. It was situated upon a high elevation, and, even from where he was, Roberts could see the broad view stretching beyond on the other side. But the thought uppermost in his mind while he lay watching the place was less of all this than of the wretched American whom he had left there.

He had not been there more than five minutes before he saw the door in front of the broad avenue open and a man step out. A single glance at the figure was enough to tell him that it was the little Frenchman who had welcomed him on the night he had been brought there.

“You scoundrel!” Roberts thought, clenching his hands. “I should like to get hold of you!”

The man had a cigar in his mouth, and began sauntering up and down the piazza. Roberts had the pleasure of watching him for a considerable time at this occupation, and then he came out and fell to examining the flowers in front of the house.

In the meantime the American was thinking over his situation and trying to make up his mind what to do. He was not willing to risk any further explorations of the place by himself; and yet, on the other hand, he dreaded retracing that long walk on the road.

“Perhaps it goes on,” he thought, “and perhaps I can find another house beyond.”

He stole back into the bushes and made a circuit of the broad grove to investigate. He found, however, that the road apparently led only to the mansion and that he was confronted with the necessity of retracing his steps the entire day’s journey.

“Perhaps they left me near some place,” he thought, “and I would have been all right if I had only waited for daylight!”

Weakened by his unpleasant experiences, Roberts was not prepared to undertake that trip immediately. It was then well on toward sunset, but he resolved to rest several hours, at any rate.

He crept back into the bushes a short distance to make himself safe from discovery and stretched himself out to rest. Several hours passed in that way, and then, as darkness once more settled upon the place, he crept forward for a closer view of the house before leaving it. He had not taken very many steps, however, before something occurred which caused him to stop abruptly. He could see, through the bushes, the lights shining out from one or two of the windows. Suddenly, his ears were caught by a confused sound of voices. He sprang forward to the edge of the bushes and gazed out just in time to witness an exciting scene.

The doorway was open and a flood of light was pouring out. In the doorway several men were struggling violently.

At that very instant one of the voices cried out in English: “Help! Help!” And to his consternation Roberts recognized the voice as the same he had heard through the keyhole of his cell! It was the American prisoner!

As Roberts realized this, all thought of caution left him. With a yell he leaped forward and bounded across the lawn at the top of his speed.

The rest happened so quickly that Roberts had no time to think. He saw the figures silhouetted in the light of the doorway, one man making a desperate struggle against two or three others. Roberts reached the foot of the steps leading up to the piazza at the very same instant that another figure came dashing around the corner of the porch, crying out excitedly in French. He recognized both the voice and form as those of the hated master of the house.

It was the opportunity for which he had been wishing. He flung himself upon the man, and before the latter had time even to throw up his hands dealt him a blow with all the power of his arm, catching him in the chest and sending him reeling backward; then, with a shout of encouragement, he turned and dashed toward the doorway.

He was in the very nick of time, for the other prisoner, who had been making a gallant fight for his liberty, was now almost overpowered by the men. Roberts recognized them as the same servants who had welcomed him upon his entrance. Several others were rushing down the hallway to join in the struggle, when he flung himself through the doorway. One of the men had pinned the unfortunate prisoner to the wall, but Roberts dealt him a blow that sent him flying backward. The others turned with a cry of alarm, at the same time loosening their hold upon the prisoner.

And the latter whirled like a flash, and before Roberts had time to shout to him had dashed out of the doorway and down the steps of the building. His rescuer paused only long enough to repel a furious onslaught, and then he, too, turned and rushed away into the darkness.

“Run! Run!” he yelled to the man he had helped. “Run for your life!”

There was no need of the exhortation. The man was fairly flying over the ground, making for the thicket beyond.

Roberts heard footsteps behind him and glanced over his shoulder in time to see that his danger was by no means over. It seemed as if his shout must have alarmed the whole house. Half a dozen men had poured out of the doorway and were in full pursuit of the fugitives. The nearest of them, who had been rushing up to join in the fight as Roberts turned, were only a few yards behind.

Roberts knew that all depended upon his being able to get away into the thicket, for he was by no means strong enough for a long race. The other man seemed able to run faster, and was leaving his rescuer behind.

“Oh, if I only had my revolver!” he said to himself.

As it was, he expected some of the men to fire upon him. Before there was time for this, however, the race was over and lost. To the edge of the bushes was a matter of only a few seconds; the first man disappeared and Roberts followed, when suddenly a tangled vine in his path caught his foot and brought him to earth with a blow so violent that it almost stunned him. Not two seconds later Roberts felt a heavy body fling itself upon him and heard a voice crying out in the now too familiar French.

He tried to struggle to his feet once more to grapple with his assailant, but his efforts were in vain, for the latter’s cries had brought several more to the spot, and before he was able to realize it Roberts was again a helpless prisoner.

His cries were stopped by one of the men flinging his coat about his head; then two others picked him up by the arms and feet and set out to carry him.

He was so breathless and dazed by what had occurred that he was scarcely able to realize his plight. Once more a prisoner in the hands of the mysterious Frenchman!

“Of course, they will take me straight back to the house,” he thought, and in this he found that he was not mistaken. From the sounds that reached his ears he knew that a crowd had gathered about those who were carrying him, and suddenly, above all the excited cries, Roberts heard a voice that he recognized as that of the master.

“Vous l’avez?” he cried excitedly. “Bien!”

Roberts did not know the meaning of the words, but the Frenchman’s delight was sufficiently manifested by the tone of the voice. The American’s heart sank as he thought of what was before him.

“He won’t let me off so easily this time!” he thought. “I am not sorry I whacked him, all the same, and at least that other fellow will escape!”

He was borne swiftly forward by the men; from the sounds of the footsteps he knew that they were on the gravel walk once more. Then they mounted the steps of the piazza, and through an opening in the coat that was still flung over his head he made out the light of the doorway. At the same time he heard the voice of the Frenchman and was borne into the hallway again. The door shut behind him. It sounded like a death-knell in his ears.

“Probably they will take me back to that very same cell,” he thought.

And then suddenly two of the men seized him by his arms, and the rest released their hold, leaving him standing upon his feet. The coat was flung from off his face, and he stood before his captors.

Roberts found himself in the very same hallway as on the previous occasion, surrounded by the very same servants, and in the presence of the very same master. All this was exactly what he had expected, and nothing of it surprised him. But there was one new circumstance, one that left him almost dazed with consternation—the action of the crowd of men the instant they caught sight of him.

The master himself, having apparently recovered from the blow which Roberts had dealt him, was standing in front of his prisoner; as he got a glimpse of his face he staggered back with an exclamation, and burst into a roar of laughter! He began to shake all over with uncontrollable merriment, and finally he sank back against the wall, apparently scarcely able to stand.

Nor were his assistants less strangely affected—they, too, gazed at the prisoner, and then went likewise into spasms of laughter. Everyone in the hall was soon joining in the uproar, and two men who were holding Roberts were so overcome that they let go their hold of him! The puzzled man found himself alone and free once more, but he was so amazed that he could only stand and stare about him.

It would not be possible to describe his perplexity. The little Frenchman, now apparently not in the least alarmed by the fact that his prisoner was free, lay back in a chair near the fireplace, almost purple in the face with laughter. And this situation continued for fully two minutes more before the man, seeing Roberts’s amazement, rose to his feet and came toward him.

“Monsieur!” he began, making a desperate effort to control his laughter. “Monsieur! Une trÈs grande bÉvue!”

Then seeing from the expression on Roberts’s face that the remark was not understood, he again went into an explosion of merriment.

“J’ai oubliÉ!” he gasped. “Vous ne comprenez pas——”

Yet, though Roberts did not understand, there was one thing which these things did make plain to him, and which brought him a vast relief. This farce, whatever it was, was at least not going to turn out a tragedy for him.

He stood as he was in the centre of the hallway watching the crowd. When the first burst of laughter had passed away they remained eagerly talking to each other, glancing at him occasionally and gesticulating. The little Frenchman, who seemed not to have the slightest enmity toward Roberts for having knocked him down, was still standing in front of him, laughing excitedly and trying to make himself understood. As he only continued to shake his head the Frenchman gave a gesture of despair. Suddenly, however, a thought seemed to strike him, and he whirled about and called to one of the men.

“Jacques!” he exclaimed. “Appelez Jacques!”

Immediately one of the men turned and darted out of the door. It was only a few seconds later before another man entered the room and toward him the excited little Frenchman rushed. Still shaking with merriment he began an excited conversation, glancing occasionally at Roberts. In a few seconds the newcomer was also convulsed with hilarity.

“Parlez-lui, Jacques!” cried the master of the house excitedly. “Vite!”

And the man came toward Roberts, his face strained with suppressed laughter.

“Sir!” he stammered, scarcely able to speak. “Sir, I explain!”

“Go ahead,” said Roberts, who by this time had begun to feel the laughter contagious. “Hurry up, for heaven’s sake!”

The Frenchman paused for a few seconds, evidently collecting his scanty knowledge of English; then he turned toward the master of the house.

“Sir,” he said, making a profound bow, “I introduce—I introduce you the Dr. Anselme.”

The little Frenchman in turn made a profound bow; at the same time a sudden idea flashed across Roberts.

The two men, who were watching him closely, glanced at each other and again began laughing uproariously. Then again Jacques began his laborious explanation, pausing very long between words.

“This house,” he said, “this house—it is—it is une—une—what is de word? Une hÔpital——”

Again the man stopped and gazed into the air. In the meantime, however, Roberts’s brain had been working, and a possible explanation of his extraordinary adventures with Dr. Anselme had flashed over him.

“A hospital!” he cried, “an asylum!”

“Oui, oui, monsieur!” cried the man excitedly.

“There was one man coming,” he continued excitedly, “one——”

“Patient?” suggested Roberts.

“Oui, oui!” exclaimed the other. “One patient! He was to come——”

But the man did not finish his sentence. At that moment there came the sound of rolling carriage-wheels, and Dr. Anselme made a sudden start for the door and flung it open just as the carriage stopped and a man bounded up the steps of the porch. The little doctor, still half convulsed with laughter, dragged him into the house and began an excited conversation with him. In a moment or two the latter turned to Roberts. He began to speak in fluent English, keeping from giving way to laughter by a violent effort.

“Sir,” he said, “my brother wishes me to explain—I have arrived just in time.”

“For heaven’s sake!” cried Roberts in relief. “Talk on, and tell me what is the matter!”

“It is a most extraordinary blunder,” said the newcomer. “You have escaped a dangerous surgical operation by the merest chance!”

Roberts placed his hand on his bald head, and everyone in the hallway gave a roar of laughter.

“Yes,” said the other, “that is it. My brother is a well-known specialist in mental diseases and has this sanitarium in the mountains. No doubt you were surprised to find such a large house so far away from any city. We were expecting a patient, an American, by the same train on which you arrived. He was suffering from an injury to the skull, which made him liable to periodic attacks of insanity, and he was coming up here to be treated.”

“The very man I saw on the train!” cried Roberts. “A tall, dark-haired person?”

“We do not know in the least what he looks like,” was the reply, “for had we known we should not have made the horrible blunder we did.”

In a few words Roberts related how the stranger had leaped from the train during the night.

“Undoubtedly,” said the other, “that was he. He probably lacked courage to come. I have been out hunting for him, but have not found him.”

“And they were going to operate on me?” Roberts gasped.

“Yes,” said the other; “it was only the fact that my brother was unable to find any trace of injury to your skull that saved you. Then it occurred to him to search your clothing, and he found your card, which, of course, showed him the terrible mistake.”

By this time Roberts himself was able to join in the uproarious laughter.

“But that other man—that prisoner who has been here for twenty years—what about him?” he asked.

“He has been here nearly thirty years,” laughed the other, “but he has no knowledge of the time. He is a raving maniac!”

“And I helped him to escape!” gasped Roberts.

“Yes, you did,” said the other ruefully, “and I am afraid it will take us many days to catch him!”

“But why in the world did you take me away and leave me there on the road?” cried Roberts, when he was able to speak. “Why did you not explain to me?”

“I would have if I had been here,” the man answered, “but my brother concluded that, as you were not destined for here, you were going to the mines, which are the only other inhabited spot around here. So they carried you to the mines.”

“To the mines!” gasped the other. “For heaven’s sake, what do you mean? You left me out in the middle of the jungle!”

Once more the Frenchman went off into a fit of laughter. “Why, they left you within fifty yards of the place!” gasped Dr. Anselme’s brother. “They did not take you in, as they thought there might be some trouble made about the matter and we were anxious to get out of it without any.”

Then in a few words Roberts told what had happened to him since that adventure.

“I thought I was doing something very heroic in rescuing that man,” he exclaimed. “Please apologize to the doctor for the whack I gave him.”

Dr. Anselme protested that the blow was nothing at all, though Roberts fancied that he could see him wince at the mere recollection of it. Nothing more was said about that, however, and, still laughing about the man’s strange adventures, the doctor turned to the door on one side and flung it open, disclosing the same familiar dining-room.

“Sir, I pardon you,” he said, and his brother interpreted, “now sit again with us at our table, I beg of you.”

And they went in to supper.