ned the bully with the gun.

"I fancy a good many of us would tone down if we could look ahead for
three whole days," Tom suggested.

Other steps were now heard on the stairs. The newcomers remained outside
the illuminated part of the cellar until still others arrived.

"Now, gentlemen," proposed the voice of Jim Duff, "suppose we have a
look at the troublemaker."

"They can't mean me," Tom hinted to his immediate captor.

"Shut up!" came the surly answer.

Fully a dozen men now moved forward. With the single exception of Duff,
each had a cloth, with eye-holes, tied in place over his face.

"My, but this looks delightfully mysterious!" chuckled Tom.

"You be still, boy, except when you answer something that calls for a
reply," ordered Jim Duff, who had dropped all of the surface polish of
manner that he usually employed. "This meeting need not last long, and
I'll do most of the talking."

"Won't these other gentlemen present be allowed to do some of the
talking?" the young engineer inquired.

"They don't want to," Duff explained gruffly. "That might lead to their
being recognized."

"Oh, that's the game?" mused Tom Reade aloud. "Why, I thought they had
the handkerchiefs over their faces because--"

"Shut up and listen!" warned Jim Duff.

"...because," finished Tom, "they wanted me to feel that everything was
being done regularly and in good dime-novel form. My, but they do look
like some of the fellows that Hen Dutcher used to tell us about. Hen
used to waste more time on dime novels than--"

"Shut up!" again commanded Duff. "These gentlemen feel that there is no
need of their being recognized."

"Then why didn't Fred Ransom, of the Colthwaite Company, cover up the
scar on his chin?" retorted Reade. "Why didn't Ashby, of the Mansion
House, invent a new style of walking for the occasion?"

Both men named drew hastily back into the shadow. Tom chuckled quietly.

"I could name a few others," Tom continued carelessly. "In fact--I think
I know you all. Gentlemen, you might as well remove your masks."

"Club him with the butt of the gun, if he talks too much," Duff directed
the bully, who had stepped back a few paces as the men formed a circle
around the young engineer.

"Did you ever try to stop water from running down hill, Duff," Tom
inquired good-humoredly.

"What has that to do with--" began the gambler angrily.

"Nothing very much," Tom admitted. "Only it's a waste of time to try to
bind my ton