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174 able to guide him even if he dared venture a subdued call.

While these disturbing thoughts filled his consciousness they were broken in upon suddenly by a string of picturesque and variegated oaths uttered in a vigorous tone which seemed to rise from beneath the floor, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The voice was unmistakably Miller's. Would he find that bit of silk, recognize it, and be able to conceal it from the befuddled gaze of his jailor?

An indistinguishable retort from Pete in a threatening rumble replied to the reception which had greeted him, and thereafter there was silence for a space. Tony drank deeply again and placed the bottle on the table with a thump. The coffee had boiled away and an odor of scorching grounds filled the air; but Tony was plainly oblivious to it, and Odell stealing a glance at him noted that he was gazing straight ahead of him with the set, glassy stare of a somnambulist; the laudanum, was already getting in its stupefying effect.

All at once Miller's voice sounded loud and clear from below as if raised with deliberate intent.

"What's the good of keeping me tied up in an old boat under a rotten wharf? I couldn't run away if I wanted to, but I'll bet you a necktie against an old pair of boots"—

The words died away in a choking gurgle as if the speaker had been swiftly gagged; but Odell had heard enough, and a glow of renewed hope and cheer swept over him. Good old Miller! He had found the torn bit of silk, realized its message, and done his best to reply to it. An hour or two more at most and the way would be clear for a getaway.

But the detective's hopes seemed doomed to be indefinitely deferred. When Pete reëntered with the empty tray Tony