“All ready.”
“So am I,” mused Ralph, as he counted the minutes roll away. He tried to imagine just what was going to happen and how he would meet the crisis when it arrived.
Midnight came, and one minute after twelve. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed away. Then Ralph bent his ear. Some kind of a conveyance was coming down the turnpike. He could hear the ring of a horse’s hoofs and the hard wheels crunching the frozen snow.
Ralph picked up a newspaper and pretended to read it, looking as comfortable and unconcerned as possible.
“Whoa!” sounded a loud voice outside.
Then other voices mingled in confusion. Some one came to the window and peered in. There was a muffled consultation outside. Finally a thunderous knock sounded at the door, and a stentorian voice shouted out:
“Open--in the name of the law!”
[CHAPTER XXIV—THE BATTLE OF WITS]
Ralph instantly arose to his feet and unlocked the office door. He was about to open it when it was forcibly burst inwards in his grasp.
“We want to get in here,” vociferated a strident voice, and a consequential-looking little fellow, wearing his coat open so that a constable’s badge showed on his vest, swept over the threshold as if he was leading an army to an attack.