"We will go at once," I answered, signing to my two men to follow us.
"Is it far?"

"Twenty miles."

"And the place is called?"

"Black Rock Creek."

Having left our bags at a hotel, we started on our drive. Much to my
surprise I found there were provisions sufficient for several days
packed beneath the seat of the carriage. Mr. Wells told me that the
region around Black Rock Creek was among the wildest in the state.
There was nothing there to attract either farmers or fishermen. We
would find not an inn for our meals nor a room in which to sleep.
Fortunately, during the July heat there would be no hardship even if
we had to lie one or two nights under the stars.

More probably, however, if we were successful, the matter would not
occupy us many hours. Either the commander of the "Terror" would be
surprised before he had a chance to escape, or he would take to
flight and we must give up all hope of arresting him.

I found Arthur Wells to be a man of about forty, large and powerful.
I knew him by reputation to be one of the best of our local police
agents. Cool in danger and enterprising always, he had proven his
daring on more than one occasion at the peril of his life. He had
been in Toledo on a wholly different mission, when chance had thrown
him on the track of the "Terror."