e new Julius uttered a single sentence; that was all. If Peter heard
the noise attending the disposal of his comrade, he was justified in
believing that the girl had offered some resistance. When a tall,
grunting man emerged from the inner room, bearing the limp figure of a
girl in a frayed raincoat, he did not wait to ask questions, but rushed
over and locked the cell-door. Then he led the way down the narrow
stairway, lighting the passage with a candle. His only reply to King's
guttural remark in the Graustark language was:

"Don't speak, you fool! Not a word until we reach the river."

Down the steps they went to the opening in the wall of the sewer. There,
before the bolts were drawn by Brutus, a series of raps were exchanged
by men outside and the one who held the keys within.

A moment later, the girl was being lowered through the hole into rough,
eager arms. Brutus and his companion dropped through, the secret block
of masonry was closed, and off through the shallow waters of the sewer
glided the party riverward in the noiseless boat that had come up to
ferry them.

There were three men in the boat, not counting Truxton King.

CHAPTER XIV

ON THE RIVER

No word was spoken during this cautious, extraordinary voyage
underground. The boat drifted slowly through the narrow channel,
unlighted and practically unguided. Two of the men sat at the rowlocks,
but the oars rested idly in the boat. With their hands they kept the
craft from scraping against the walls.

The pseudo-Julius supported his charge in the stern of the boat; Peter
Brutus sat in the bow, a revolver in his hand, his gaze bent upon the
opaqueness ahead. A whispered word of encouragement now and then passed
from the lips of the hopeful American into the ear of the almost
pulseless girl, who lay up against his knee.

"We'll do it--sure!" he whispered once, ever so softly.

"Yes," she scarcely, breathed, but he heard and was thrilled. The rope
had dropped from her arms; she had taken the handkerchief from her mouth
at his whispered command.

At last the boat crept out into the rainy, starless night. He drew the
skirts of his own mackintosh over her shoulders and head. A subdued
command came from the man in the bow; the oars slipped into the deep,
black waters of the river; without a splash or a perceptible sound the
little craft scudded toward midstream. The night was so inky black that
one could not see his hand before his face.

At l