The light was gone at last and with it the professor’s hope. He was totally alone in the inky darkness, a prisoner in a cell whose size he was not certain of, down under the ruins of a castle in the woods. Far above him he could hear the slam of another door and the faint footsteps of the two men. Then there was complete silence and the teacher turned away from the barred door.

“A truly ancient castle,” grumbled the professor. “The dungeon completed before the rest of the house!”

He wondered, as he moved cautiously around if anyone had ever been a prisoner in this cold and wet-smelling cell. He found his way around without difficulty, running his hands along the wall and extending his feet carefully. There was not a single object in the place, and he felt that they had not expected to have him there, for there was no bed or chair in the place.
93

“Unless,” thought the savant, as he continued to feel his way around. “They wouldn’t be decent enough to give me a chair or bed, anyway. No use in expecting mercy from villains like these, I suppose.”

The walls were perfectly smooth, composed of sandstone, as was the entire castle. Ned had told his father that the opposite slope of the mountain was almost wholly composed of this particular type of stone, and the original owner and builder had no doubt had it quarried and dragged to the spot, using Indians who had been taken captive by the Spaniards. Such was the professor’s belief and it was reasonable. Even in his anxiety to escape from these men he found himself taking an interest in the place and resolved that if these men were ever cleaned out of it he would explore it thoroughly.

The floor was also of stone, wet and slippery, and for all the professor knew, the dwelling place of spiders and other crawling things. He hated to sit down on it, but there was no other place and he was very tired from his long ride and the excitement of it all, so he felt around the floor with shrinking hand and finally found a spot near the door which seemed to be drier than the rest of the floor. Pretty much exhausted the history professor sank to the floor and rested his back against the cold wall.
94

He was in some doubt as to what to do. He felt that Ned would catch on to his meaning when he read the word “duress” and the boys would surely make a vigorous effort to find him, but how long that would be or what would happen in the meantime he had no idea. The men upstairs were convinced that he knew something about the treasure, that he possessed some information which he was withholding, and they would do their best to get it out of him. They would try to starve him first, and in that fact he found a ray of hope, for it would take them several days to find out that he did not intend to say anything, and then they would adopt a more severe program. In that time Ned and the boys from Maine would have time to find him, and they would naturally look near the mountains. It was possible that they might think he had been carried off to sea, but surely the cook or Yappi would tell them the true facts of the case, provided they hadn’t been so frightened that they hadn’t even seen in which direction the cavalcade had gone.
95

But if the men decided to change their plans and try to pump information from him he would have a bigger problem on his hands. These men were by no means gentle, they were men who were willing and able to sweat hard to earn money and especially dishonest money, and they would not be likely to stop at anything cruel or inhuman. They were miles away from any source of help and the woods would effectually hide any story which might shock the outside world if it were known. Sackett and the mate must know that the boys would soon be on the trail, and he was inclined to think that they would resort before very long to methods other than peaceful.

“If that is the case,” thought Professor Scott, jumping to his feet, “I’m just wasting time by sitting here. There seems to be no way of getting out of the place, but it may be that there is some flaw that will ultimately prove my biggest help.”

So once more he began to feel his way along the wall and then stopped as a new thought came to him. A few days before Ned had given him a cigar lighter, a somewhat unreliable engine that lighted once in a great while, but which always gave off a bright flash when the little wheel was turned by the thumb. It was in his vest pocket and he reached for it. He had not had any matches with him and had secretly lamented the fact, but now his main difficulty was in a fair way to be overcome.
96

He took the little case from his pocket and spun the wheel. A sputtering little flash was the answer, which lighted up the cell for a split second and gave him his bearings. It was evident that the cigar lighter had no intentions whatsoever of lighting for any length of time, but it at least gave forth a flash that threw the heavy stones into a sort of bluish picture for an instant. Working it constantly the old gentleman moved around the dungeon, exploring the walls and floor, until something in one corner arrested his attention.

There was a crevice there, running from the floor to the ceiling and in that crack was a moulded rope. The rope ended near the floor, and hung straight down from a round hole in the ceiling above him. He took hold of the rope, to find it wet and slippery but fairly strong. The men had evidently not seen it and he knew why. Anyone who stood in the room and threw the beams of a lantern around would cast the light in a confused way into the corne............