“I’ll chance the rear door,” thought Clancy, and groped his way in that direction.
He went slowly, avoiding chairs, and passing around a table. At the wall, he ran his hands carefully over the blank surface until they came to a swinging curtain. He pulled the curtain aside and reached out. His hand encountered only space beyond, and his eyes stared into pitchy darkness.
“I’m headed right,” he said to himself. “Those fellows went this way and left the door open. Now I’ll——”
His thoughts suddenly left him. Out of the blank gloom two arms stretched themselves, enfolded him in a viselike embrace, and wrenched his feet out from under him. He fell soddenly on a thick carpet, with a knee on his chest and pinning him down.
CHAPTER XI.
CAUGHT RED-HANDED.
That sudden attack was a big surprise to Clancy. Sure that Hibbard and Long Tom had turned the tables on him, he tried to yell and arouse the house and convey a warning to Fortune. A hand was clapped over his mouth, however, and outcry was impossible.
“Stop your struggling!” a voice hissed in Clancy’s ear. “And don’t try to call out. It will be the worse for you, if you do. I am holding a revolver to your breast, and, if I have to, I will use it.”
Here was another surprise for Clancy. A refined voice, although with a crisp, businesslike ring, had done the talking. Certainly it was not Hibbard’s voice, and it could not possibly be Chantay Seeche Tom’s. Whose, then, was it?
The hand was withdrawn from Clancy’s lips.