"On the floor below," he answered. He pulled on a brown blanket dressing-gown, drawing the girdle tight at the waist.
"You can get to it quicker than I can," I told him. "Give me the gun, and throw on the lights as you go down. Then get the police here as soon as you can."
"What'll you do?" he demanded.
"I'll guard the door," I answered as I all but pushed him into that hallway. Then I swung-to the door after me, and locked it from the outside. "Quick, the gun," I said. There was no fear on his face now, yet it was natural enough that he should hesitate.
"What are you? An officer?"
There was no time for an explanation.
"Plain-clothes man," was my glib enough answer, as I caught the pistol from his hand. He switched on the hall lights.
He was half-way to the top of the stairs when a woman's scream, high pitched and horrible, echoed out of the room where I had the two confederates trapped. It was repeated, shrill and sharp. The face of the big blond man went as white as chalk.
"Who is that!" he demanded, with staring eyes, facing the locked door of the second room. Then he backed off from the door.
I flung a cry of warning at him, but it did not stop his charge. His great shoulder went against the paneled wood like a battering-ram. Under the weight of that huge body the entire frame-facing gave way; he went lunging and staggering from sight into the dimly-lit inner room.