wasn't as helpless as they seemed to think. Blake fervently hoped so.

Since Blake had finished reading the paper, two hours had passed, as nearly as he could guess. O'Toole came in from the car's smoking compartment, and sat down wearily across from Blake. He pushed his big feet up on the chair beside Blake.

"What do you make of it?" he asked.

Blake pointed to the paper silently and O'Toole picked it up. He read quickly, his eyes darting from side to side of the page. His face grew purple.

"They certainly pulled a fast one," he growled. "A whole train missing, with the owner of the line and his daughter on it. I never stopped to think what that might mean when the papers got hold of it."

"Nor I," Blake admitted. "But Harror did, and if I'm not mistaken, someone with a lot more brains than Harror had the same idea. This thing was carefully planned, O'Toole, but there are two points that the Silver Masks overlooked."

O'Toole looked at him questioningly.

"One was they didn't expect you and me to cause the trouble we're going to," Blake went on, "and the other is Wade. He's around somewhere. He may help us out at the right time."

O'Toole spat disgustedly.

"We can cause trouble if we ever get out of here," he admitted. "I'm not so sure of Wade."

A shaft of light cut in through the window suddenly, blinding them both.

They stared out with wide eyes. A murmur of voices from the car told them that the others were awake, and also impressed by what they saw.

Mono 6 was in a great cavern. Great black granite walls towered high above. The mono train had evidently entered the cave slowly and slipped between a long row of huge boulders that held it upright. The cave was a graveyard of mono cars. They lay across the full width of its floor, dismantled and torn apart for whatever value they had to offer.

For the first time Blake realized just how large operations had been; just how close the Silver Masks were to ruining the industry Ferrell had painstakingly built up.

Men appeared from a long row of doors worked into the cliff side. They all looked alike in the black suits and glittering silver masks. Tools of every description had made their appearance. Beyond the doors from whence they had come must be a complete set of living quarters with access to the outside world.

Common sense told Blake that the entrance through which Mono 6 had arrived was now carefully sealed. If he was to solve the mystery of Grudge Harror's plans and make escape possible, it would be necessary to go through those doors. Harror himself was there somewhere, and Blake's fists ached to meet the man alone.

"My golly," O'Toole breathed. "They all look alike. What you suppose they'll do with us? Must be forty or fifty people on this set of cars." Blake turned away from the window.

"If the train were wrecked," he said in a matter of fact voice, "they'd take everything off it and leave it here. With passengers on board, they have to remove the baggage and movable parts. After that...."

"After that, we'll all go to hell the fastest way," O'Toole said with grim lips. "Let's get something started. I can't sit still until they decide what to do with us."

"If I'm not mistaken," Blake said grimly, "they have us all disposed of well in advance. You mentioned just one thing that may help us out."

"If I did," O'Toole admitted, "It was just crazy luck."

"They all look alike." Blake stood up, studied O'Toole carefully, and said. "We're going to join the gang of the Silver Masks."

O'Toole grinned.

"Just like that," he said dryly. "And this guy Harror is going to shake our hands and say, 'Glad to see you're with us, boys.'"

Blake was already out of the smoking lounge. He went toward the end of the car with a swift, determined stride. Ferrell and Dauna had been at the window and as he approached the door leading outside, they turned.

"Hold it, Jeff," Ferrell said. "You're going to do something foolish and I won't have it."

"We've already got ourselves into a pretty foolish mess," Blake reminded him almost bitterly. "If I can do any good by trying, I don't want you to interfere. It may be too late."

Dauna barred his way to the door. Her face was drawn and bloodless.

"You're going to face that giant, Harror," she pleaded haltingly. "Jeff, please...?"

He took her hands in his, and smiled down at her.

"Wade wouldn't want you to put on a scene," he said gently. "I'm in this thing up to my neck. Wade's name and my own are both involved."

She hesitated and stepped away from him. Her arms dropped hopelessly.

O'Toole reached the door with Blake.

"What are the plans," he asked? "I'm in on them remember."

"Then start howling at the top of your lungs," Blake grinned. "Call Harror every name you ever heard of, but remember there are women in the car. We're going to get dragged out of here and have a talk with that freak."

O'Toole nodded.

"Okay!" he said. "I get the idea. If we can be bad boys, maybe Harror will spank us himself."

"He'll try," Blake answered quietly. "From then on it will depend on us who does the punishing."

Blake turned to the door and ignoring Dauna, started to pound on it with all his strength, O'Toole added his weight to Blake's and they started to shout loudly.

"We want to sock that big goon, Harror," O'Toole howled. He turned and winked at Dauna. "How'm I doing?" he asked.

Dauna smiled gamely.

"So well, you'll probably be shot at once," she said. "Please Blake, be careful."

They pounded again, harder than ever. The door started to sway and buckle under their weight. There was a heavy step outside, and a murmur of angry voices.

"Shut up in there."

"We want to talk with your boss," Blake shouted. "Let us out or we'll clean up on the whole gang of you."

The door swung open, and a guard came in. Two more were close behind. Guns swung around, covering the car.

"You'll talk with Harror," the first man said. "And you'll be damned sorry you did."

He pushed a gun into Blake's side.

"Now walk," he ordered. "And walk straight. No monkey business."

O'Toole started to follow them.

"You're staying here," the guard growled. "This monkey is going to get the business."

O'Toole reddened with rage.

"Why you masked ape," he said. "Let me out of here or I'll push your chin into your scalp."

That did the trick. The second guard twisted around and punched O'Toole in the face. The Irishman reeled, caught himself and said through bloody lips, "You'll pay for that."

The masked man pushed him from the car and O'Toole went a little uncertainly down the steps and after Blake.

They crossed the floor of the cave toward the series of doors in the wall. Two more guards joined the group and they paused before the first door.

"We got some wise guys," the man who was covering Blake shouted. "Want to give them a going over, Chief?"

There was a moment of silence. Then Grudge Harror's heavy voice said from beyond the door.

"Bring them in."

Blake kicked the door open and strode into a small, mercury-lighted room. There was a single chair and the desk behind which Harror was seated. His huge arms rested across its top. His expression darkened as he saw Blake.

"What's he been up to?"

The guard stepped close to Harror and pocketed his weapon.

"He was shouting his head off," he said. Then, in an almost apologetic voice he added, "The Irishman insisted on coming along."

Blake's eyes were on Harror's face. The giant's fists were clenched, his lips tight and cruel. He was searching for something.

"All right," Harror growled finally. "What's the game?"

"Nothing," Blake answered shrewdly. "We were waiting for you to murder us, and got impatient, that's all."

Two of the guards left and Harror swung to his