“Who are you?” he whispered.
“That’s none of your affair,” came the sharp answer. “How many of your pals are in this house? I heard them, a while ago, and came downstairs. What are you after, anyhow?”
The man, whoever it was, evidently belonged in the place.
“I’m not one of the thieves,” protested Clancy. “I——”
“That’s a likely story! What are you doing in here if you don’t belong to the gang?”
“I came here to do what I could to prevent the villains from robbing the judge. Judge Pembroke knows me. A friend of mine and I blundered upon a tip that something was going to happen here to-night. There wasn’t time to call the police, and we came to see what we could do for the judge.”
Clancy’s captor was a cool one. He gave a low, incredulous laugh.
“You can’t expect me to believe any such stuff as that,” he answered. “How many, besides yourself, are in this house?”
“Two—Dirk Hibbard and a fellow called Tom Long, Chantay Seeche Tom.”
“Hibbard! He knew about that Prescott money, and he’s probably trying to get hands on it. We’ll give them a jolt, I guess. Don’t move—stay right where you are!”