CHAPTER XXXII.
SIMPSON IS FOUND.The sound was a curious, muffled groan, and in a moment it was repeated.
“Good heavens!” the thought flashed through Griswold’s mind. “What if Carter has been injured, too, and locked in here?”
For perhaps half a minute the newspaper proprietor hesitated, as any man might have done under the circumstances, then he called out in a guarded tone:
“Is that you, Carter?”
There was no answer in words, but he heard another groan—or, rather, a prolonged and incoherent sound, which suggested a tongueless man’s efforts at speech.
“He’s probably injured or gagged,” Griswold concluded. “I mustn’t waste any time.”
He pressed against the sliding door some distance below the lock, and found that it gave quite a little. That discovery encouraged him, and, running aro
