She had scarcely gone ten feet, however, before she stopped short--somewhere in the dark she heard a voice.
Flattening herself against the sides of the passage, she thought quickly; to return to the cell in which lay Juan Cateras would be unwise, for he might break the bonds, which were none too strong, and, in his fury at having been so easily duped, subject her to unknown but anyway horrible indignities, if not death itself.

But what other course was there?
As she stood there a fraction of a second against the wall, knowing not which way to turn, the girl wished with all her heart that big Jim Westcott, strong, cool, collected, the master of any situation requiring force, tact, and acumen, were there by her side to take her arm and guide her out of this terrible predicament.

But Jim was elsewhere--where, she could hardly guess.
What was to be done?
Her temples throbbed as the voices sounded nearer.

Then it came home to her--why not try one of the other cells?
Possibly she would be lucky enough to find an empty one; the chances were, she felt, that most of them were.
Suiting action to the thought, she stepped quietly from the niche in the wall, moved noiselessly along its surface, and came at length to another dungeon similar to She one she had occupied, except that it had no window in its oaken door.

Fumbling with the bunch of keys, she took the first one around which her fingers fell and thrust it hurriedly into the lock.