“It’s got to be done!” Matlock Styles was saying.  “It should have been done long ago.”

“All right, I’ll do it,” grumbled another member of the band.  “But I’ll be running a big risk.”

“Not half the bloomin’ risk I’ve been running,” grumbled the Englishman.

“What about the word from Buffalo?” asked another.

“We’ll settle that to-night—­after we have settled about our prisoner.”

“I’ve got to get back to New York.”

“How soon?”

“Just as soon as possible.”

“Do you want to take the letter along?”

“Yes; I gave my word I’d bring the letter.”

“All right, then; we’ll have to write the letter, and each man sign it,” said Matlock Styles.  “But, I must say, I don’t like this way of doing things.”

“No more do I,” growled another of the band.

“It’s putting a fellow’s head under the axe,” came from Number Four.

“Oh, don’t get scared!” came from another.  “I know Luffer—­he’s O.K.”

“Everybody is O.K. until he gets in a tight corner and squeals,” grumbled Number Four.

“Kicking again, eh?” roared Matlock Styles, glaring sourly at Number Four.

“Oh, no; I’ll do as the others say!” answered the big-boned young man, but with a slight tremble in his voice.  Then all of the counterfeiters gathered around a table, to dictate and sign a certain letter some outside party had demanded.

Adam Adams did not stop to listen to all of this conversation.  He felt that if he was to get away he must lose no time in making the attempt.  For a moment he thought to rush past the counterfeiters and try to gain the regular entrance to the den, but then he realized the foolishness of such an attempt.  Before he got a dozen steps, they would fire at him, and, most likely, kill him.

He closed the door gently, and, seeing a small stick of wood on the floor, stuck this under the barrier and shoved it as tight as possible.  Then he took up the bench and braced this under the handle of the door, so that to shove the door inwards would be all but impossible.

“Now, then, to see if there is some other way out,” he mused.

A lantern, hanging on a nail, lit up the stone chamber.  Taking the light in hand, he commenced a rapid but thorough investigation of his prison.

The walls were practically solid, the only break being at the door and on the opposite side, where there had once been another door.  This second doorway had been bricked up to within six inches of the top, which had been left open, probably for ventilation.

Standing on tiptoes, Adam Adams held up the lantern and looked through the ventilating space.  Some cool air coming in, told him that the passageway beyond must lead to the outer world.

“If that opening was only a bit larger a fellow might crawl through,” was what he told himself.

He set the lantern down and felt of the wall, putting his arm through the opening.  It was about a foot thick, and the bricks were well laid, in good cement.