CHAPTER XXXVIII.
KEARNEY MEETS HIS MATCH.
There was no turning Whitney Barnes away with a soft answer. His appeals for admission were rising to a strident pitch when his friend opened the door and yanked him in.
“Have you seen him?” demanded Barnes, looking about wildly.
“No,” Gladwin returned. “I think he escaped.”
“Oh, I don’t mean the robber Johnny,” complained Barnes, shaking out his handcuffed wrists. “I mean the damned idiot who locked these things on me.”
“He’s searching the house,” said Gladwin, smiling at his friend’s tragic earnestness.
Detective Kearney came into the room alert as a race horse.
“We’ve been through the house from cellar to roof,” he spat out while his eyes searched every corner of the room.
“I say––look here,” said Barnes, “can you unlock me?”