:

"My men are ready to seize the entire Belgian staff, at a moment's
notice, sir."

The confusion that broke out immediately following his words told Chester
that his shot had missed. But the boy stood his ground. There was nothing
else he could do.

From the opposite side of the room came a cry:

"That was the work assigned to me."

"That is not true," was Chester's quick reply. "I was the man selected
for that work."

The man on the other side of the room made a spring toward Chester, but
he was arrested by the commanding voice of the chief, who now stood up to
his full height, a revolver barrel gleaming in his outstretched hand.

"There is a traitor here," said the chief calmly. "I shall be the one to
decide who it is, for you are all known to me. Unmask!"

Every person in the room save Chester obeyed this command, and for the
fraction of a second he stood alone, his face still covered. But he stood
for a fraction of a second only.

Then with a quick move his revolver leaped from his pocket, and there was
the sound of a shot. The chief toppled over to the floor.

Chester leaped to one side, and with a backward sweep of his left arm
knocked the single lamp from the wall and plunged the room into darkness.

Then he dropped to his knees. And none too soon, for twenty pistols
cracked and as many bullets went hurtling by the spot where he had stood
a moment before.

Ten feet behind Chester was a door. He had noticed it when he first
entered the room, and had decided that there lay whatever chance he had
for safety should he be discovered. Quickly, and still stooping, he ran
toward the door.

And even as he reached it a match flared up and a bullet whistled by his
ear. But the door was unlocked and gave before the boy's weight, and as,
after passing safely through it, he turned to close it in the faces of
his enemies, one man blocked him, his arm raised to fire.

But Chester's revolver rang out first. The lad had fired from his hip,
and the man went sprawling.

The lad turned his weapon on the others who now rushed toward him, and
fired three rapid shots. Then he slammed the door shut, bolted it with a
single movement, and, turning, ran along the dark passageway, at the end
of which he could discern a dim light.

Chester wiped his brow with his hand, and his hand came away wet. Holding
it close to his eyes as he ran, Chester saw blood. A bullet had struck
him a glancing blow on the side of the head, bu