“Take us to him!” ordered Bill.
A few moments later the two ruffians stood in the presence of a man with iron-gray hair and mustache and deeply furrowed features. The eyes of this man were sharp and restless, while his right hand was small as that of a woman and white as snow.
“What’s this stuff Mag tells me?” he demanded, in a cold, hard voice. “Why are you two back here?”
“We come back here for your own good, Mr. Jarvis,” declared Bill. “Eh, Sam?”
“Sure, Bill,” nodded the second ruffian.
“For my own good? You said something about the police.”
“That’s what we did, Mr. Jarvis.”
“What did you mean?”
“You tell him, Bill,” urged Sam, backing off a little and standing in the doorway of the room.
“What ails yer?” growled Bill in disgust. “Are you afraid? Well, I’m not afraid of the Old Boy himself.”