er!" It was to be their "Open Sesame"--if all went well!

Suddenly he started to his feet, his jaws set, his eyes gleaming. The
telegraph instrument was clicking in the outer room!

He had wrapped his handkerchief about his big right hand, producing a
sort of cushion to deaden the sound of a blow with the fist and to
protect his knuckles; for all his strength was to go into that one
mighty blow. If both men came into the room, his chance was smaller;
but, in either event, the first blow was to be a mighty one.

Taking his position near the girl, who was crouching in real dismay, he
leaned against the wall, his hands behind him, every muscle strained and
taut.

The door opened and Julius Spantz, bewhiskered and awkward, entered. He
wore a raincoat and storm hat, and carried a rope in one of his hands.
He stopped just inside the door to survey the picture.

"Time you were asleep," he said stupidly, addressing King.

"I'd put you to sleep, Julius, if Miss Tullis could have managed to
untie these infernal bonds," said Truxton, with pleasant daring.

"I don't tie lovers' knots," grinned Julius, pleased with his own wit.
"Come, madam, I must ask you to stand up. Will you put your own
handkerchief in your mouth, or must I use force--ah, that's good! I'm
sorry, but I must wrap this cloth about--"

He did not complete the sentence, for he had come within range. The
whole weight of Truxton King's body was behind the terrific blow that
landed on the man's jaw. Loraine suppressed the scream that rose to her
white lips. Julius Spantz's knees crumpled; he lunged against the wall
and was sliding down when King caught him in his arms. The man was
stunned beyond all power of immediate action. It was the work of an
instant to snatch the revolver from his coat pocket.

"Guard the door!" whispered King to the girl, pressing the revolver into
her hand. "And shoot if you have to!"

A handkerchief was stuffed into the unconscious man's mouth; the long
coat and boots were jerked from his limp body before his hands and feet
were bound with the rope he carried; the bushy whiskers and wig were
removed from his head and transferred in a flash to that of the
American. Then the boots, coat and hat found a new wearer.

Peter Brutus was standing in the stairway, leading to the sewer,
listening eagerly for sounds from either side.

"Hurry up, Julius," he called imperatively. "They are below with the
boat. They have given the signal."

Th