A search revealed the
fact that his purse, his watch and his pocket-knife were missing.
Another precious match showed him that there were no windows. A chimney
hole in the ceiling was, perhaps, the only means by which fresh air
could reach this dreary place.

"Well, I guess I'm here to stay," he said to himself. He sat down with
his back to the wall, despair in his soul. A pitiful, weak smile came to
him in the darkness, as he thought of the result of his endeavour to
"show off" for the benefit of the heartless girl in rajah silk. "What an
ass I am," he groaned. "Now she will never know."

Sleep was claiming his senses. He made a pillow of his coat, commended
himself to the charity of rats and other horrors, and stretched his
weary bones upon the relentless floor.

"No one will ever know," he murmured, his last waking thought being of a
dear one at home.

CHAPTER XI

UNDER THE GROUND

Day and night were the same to the occupant of the little room. They
passed with equal slowness and impartial darkness. Five days that he
could account for crawled by before anything unusual happened to break
the strain of his solitary, inexplicable confinement. He could tell when
it was morning by the visit of a bewhiskered chambermaid with a deep
bass voice, who carried a lighted candle and kicked him into
wakefulness. The second day after his incarceration began, he was given
food and drink. It was high time, for he was almost famished.
Thereafter, twice a day, he was led into the larger room and given a
surprisingly hearty meal. Moreover, he was allowed to bathe his face and
hands and indulge in half an hour's futile stretching of limbs. After
the second day few questions were asked by the men who had originally
set themselves up as inquisitors. At first they had treated him with a
harshness that promised something worse, but an incident occurred on the
evening of the second day that changed the whole course of their
intentions.

Peter Brutus had just voiced the pleasure of the majority by urging the
necessity for physical torture to wring the government's secrets from
the prisoner. King, half famished, half crazed by thirst, had been
listening to the fierce argument through the thin door that separated
the rooms. He heard the sudden, eager movement toward the door of his
cell, and squared himself against the opposite wall, ready to fight to
the death. Then there came a voice that he recognised.

A woman was addressi