Solid walls on every side met his touch.
"Well," he finally muttered, "I have learned one thing at least to-night
--the fools of this world are not all dead. One of them, however, came
pretty close to it."
It seemed an age to the imprisoned detective before the creaking of a
door announced the coming of some one.
The door opened and closed, and a light filled the room, proceeding from
a lantern in the hand of a man. This did not prove a brilliant
illuminator, yet it served to reveal the countenance of the new-comer
fairly well.
"So you are safely caged at last, my dear Keene," said the visitor, in a
sarcastic voice.
"And this is your work, August Bordine, after all the confidence I placed
in you," uttered the detective, in a rebuking voice.
"It was merely a game of wits, Mr. Keene. I was too smart for you, in
spite of the fact that you're reputed to be the sharpest man-tracker in
Gotham. I think it would pay you to hire me for a spell."
"This, then, was a put-up job?"
"That's about the size of it."
"That runaway and injury to yourself that the papers speak about was only
a blind?"
"Only a blind, my dear Keene.
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