Again that horrid shriek. This time there was no mistake from whence it came. Half breathless from their sprint, Bill and the detective reached the lodge and looked about for a means of entrance.

“Somebody,” whispered the secret service man, “is torturing Osceola!”

“Sounds like it, all right,” panted Bill, “but I’d have thought you could cut that Seminole into little pieces and never get a peep out of him! They must be monsters—There’s a light—window in the rear—come on!”
225

Bill in the lead, they dashed round the house, then stopped short. Through the kitchen screen door they caught a glimpse of a stranger lying on the floor, and Osceola’s figure bending over him. Careful as had been their movements, Osceola’s keen ears detected them, for he reached up quickly and switched off the hanging bulb.

“Speak or I’ll fire!” His order came like a shot.

Bill laughed shakily. “It’s only me, you wild Seminole—me and a pal of ours—we’ve come to rescue you from your torturers—and by gosh!—here we find you, in reverse! What’s the idea, boy?”

“Wait a sec—I’m coming out.”

They saw the Chief’s tall form loom up beside them, although his approach had been made without a sound.

“What’s going on, anyway?” Sanborn’s nerves were badly shaken and his relief on seeing Osceola free and sound in body sharpened his tone.

“Yes, what’re you tryin’ to do—scalp the man?” added Bill.
226

Osceola chuckled. “My gosh, did you think that yell came from me? Why, no, Bill, I’m trying something a little harder than that. I was just about to learn something of interest to all of us, when you butted in.”

“But what on earth were you doing to the man?” asked Sanborn.

“Oh, the old match trick. But what have you chaps been doing to yourselves? You look like a pair of nigger roustabouts!”

“Roosting in a chimney—a nice sooty one, too.” Bill turned to the detective. “Those keen eyes of his have found us out. And the match trick, I believe, consists of placing a lighted match between the victim’s toes.”

“But we can’t have that—it’s torture!” exploded Sanborn heatedly.

Bill laughed.
227

“Shut up, this isn’t funny,” growled Osceola. “Do you want that guy in there to hear and spoil everything?” He leaned close to Sanborn. “It’s hardly ever necessary to let a low-class white feel the flame. This fellow screamed when I lit the match, and again when I put the unlighted end between his toes. You see? You just make a lengthy explanation of what is going to happen to him before you start. His imagination does the rest.”

“But Osceola—there is a possibility of burning—and I don’t like it.”

“All right, sir. I’ll light one match and stick another, an unlighted one, between his tootsies! He’ll bleat just the same. You see, when I was tied up I heard this man and his wife talking about a laboratory or factory that the Professor runs up at a place called Mizzentop. And I heard just enough to make me curious—I—”

“Go ahead, then. Find out what goes on in that laboratory, and we’ll know the answer to the winged cartwheels. But don’t you think you’re taking chances in a lighted room with nothing between you and the night but a screen door?”
228

“Huh—” grunted Osceola, “that fellow hasn’t had a bath in months—it’s a warm night, Mr. Sanborn. I prefer taking chances with bullets to being asphyxiated!”

Sanborn chuckled. “Go to it, Chief—but no rough stuff, remember. Turn on the light again if you wish. Bill and I will keep watch outside. The people up at the big house have gone to bed, but it’s just as well to take precautions. And we can hear anything your friend may have to say from the shadow of the porch.”

They walked up to the porch and Osceola went inside the house. Then the light went on in the kitchen and the young Seminole started speaking.

“Well, Mr. Skunk! Some friends of mine are out back. They are also interested in hearing about Mizzentop. So, that being that, I’m going to light another match—”

“No, no! I’ll tell—I’ll tell!”
229

“Good enough. But calm yourself, bozo—there’s no need to shout the glad tidings all over Connecticut!”

“But the Professor, sir—he will—”

“The Professor is having his own troubles, my friend. Anyway, for some time to come, you and your amiable wife in the other room will be occupying nice little cells in a big, safe jail! Out with it now—or I shall become impatient.”

“Very well, sir, I’ll tell.” Still thoroughly frightened, the man spoke submissively. “Just what was it you wanted to know?”

“Everything that you know about this silver dollar business, and the place up at Mizzentop. Make it snappy, though! I don’t want to hang around here all night.”

“Yes, sir. Professor Fanely is crazy—crazy on one subject. I noticed it coming on last year, and this spring, he got worse. ’Twas then he started this token bunk. Him and that big secretary of his, Lambert. Every one of us was handed out one of them stamped dollars, and we was all sworn to secrecy and given a number. Mine’s thirteen, and it’s brung me nuthin’ but bad luck.”
230

“—So you’re the guy that broke into the Boltons!”

“I was, sir—got in by a winder. But I didn’t get nuthin’—and I lost my token into the bargain. Professor raised the roof about it, and docked my pay, too.”

“That was just too bad,” declared Osceola sarcastically. “Now go ahead with the rest of it—this organization, and old Fanely’s c............