“I don’t know,” Watkins returned. “Some man––Gladwin, I think, is the name. I was sent here for a lady.”
“Well, you sit out in the hall and wait,” snapped Kearney, who again proceeded to explore the room, muttering and cursing.
The voice of Travers Gladwin in heated argument upstairs with Officer Ryan became audible.
“I’ll settle that fresh kid!” Kearney ejaculated, and made a break for the stairs.
His departure was Wilson’s cue to let himself down from the chimney. He signalled Watkins, who was sitting in the hall. Watkins glided in.
“By George!” exclaimed Wilson, “we are going it some in here. You certainly are taking big chances butting in. I didn’t think you had the nerve. It’s a hundred to one against me, but I’ve beaten bigger odds than that. You get up that chimney and I’ll plant myself in the chest. Quick, they’re coming down again.”
Watkins went up the chimney with the sinuous speed of a snake, and the picture expert went into the chest with the agility of a wolf spider ducking into its trap.
They were coming from all directions this time––Gladwin down the stairs, about fourteen jumps ahead of Kearney, proclaiming that he would telephone his lawyer and that he could put up $5,000,000 in bonds for bail if need be. Phelan was coming through the front door and Captain Stone through the hallway from the kitchen.
Glimpsing Gladwin, Phelan made a flying dive for him, yelling, “I got him! I got him!”