"Push him down," spoke a quick voice.
They half-lifted, half-dropped their prisoner. Ralph was thrust down into an old easy-chair.
"Now then, shut the door and fetch the lamp," was the next order.
Ralph was too astonished to say anything for a minute or two. One of his captors flitted from the room. The front door slammed shut. Then the fellow ran to the kitchen and brought in a lamp and placed it on a table.
"Well," he said with a great chuckling guffaw, "how's Mr. Ralph Fairbanks?"
"Slump--Ike Slump, eh?" spoke Ralph calmly, but following a start of some surprise.
"Don't miss me, Ralphy," suggested Slump's companion in a tone of sneering mockery.
"And Mort Bemis?" added Ralph coolly. "Good-evening, gentlemen--what can I do for you?"
"Nervy!" sneered Slump--"but it won't last. It's what we're going to do that will interest you, Ralph Fairbanks."
Ralph looked over the enemy with a steadfast glance. They were certainly "dressed to kill." He noticed that their clothing was of the most expensive grade. For all that, it was disordered and ill-fitting.