that," said Number Four, and heaved a deep sigh.

"Say, you don't like your job, do you?" went on the other
counterfeiter, with a sniff.

"Would you like it?" demanded Number Four, half angrily.

"Well, not particularly."

"When I joined this gang, I did it to make money, both ways. I didn't
join to kill folks."

"Sure, that's true. But the fellow deserves what he'll get. He is a
spy, and when a fellow spies on the likes of us he takes his life in
his hands--and he knows it."

"Well, that may be so. Just the same, I'm sorry I drew the red ball,"
went on Number Four.

"Ain't going to back out, are you?"

"Humph! How can I back out? Styles wouldn't allow it."

"You bet he wouldn't--and none of us would, for that matter. If I had
drawn the red ball I would have done what was asked of me, and no
shirking--and you've got to do the same."

"I ain't shirking," growled Number Four. "I'll do my duty. But I
don't like the job," and then he arose and left the room.

Adam Adams had moved on, too--down the dark passageway. Soon he came
to a place so narrow that he squeezed through with difficulty. Here he
stepped into a nest of rats, and one bit him in the ankle, causing him
to give an involuntary cry of pain. The rats were all around, and he
had to hiss quite loudly to make them keep their distance.

He could now smell the water, and knew he must be close to the river.
Once in the stream, he felt that he could swim to safety. But he must
look our for more traps.

Another turn, and he found the water flowing at his feet. Far ahead
was a faint glimmer of light. He entered the water and pushed forward.
Then, of a sudden, he came to a halt. He had heard the sound of
somebody rowing.

The small boat passed, and all became silent once more. Again he
pushed on, and presently reached a spot at the edge of the old mill.
He was under a dock. Close at hand rested a rowboat, with the oars
across the seats.

"The boat for mine--if I can get into it without being seen," the
detective told himself.

With added caution, he waded around to the stern of the rowboat, and
peered around carefully. Not a soul seemed to be in sight, and, with
care, he climbed over the stern of the craft.

"Stop!" came a cry. "Here he is!"

He turned and leaped to the oars. As he did this, something whizzed
through the air. It struck him on the head, and over he went, across
the seats of the boat. He clutched wildly at the ai