CHAPTER XXX

Tom Flynn § I Drake Roscoe looked around him. He was in a small cave, quite untouched by artifice, except that a heavy oak framework had been fitted to the entrance and a stout door set in. This door he knew to be bolted. The place was furnished with a table, a stool, and a divan with mattresses. It was lighted by an electric bulb higher than a man could reach even by standing on the table. Clearly enough he was not the first occupant. Twelve feet up in one wall was a ragged openin…