Roger pulled out his latchkey and cautiously released the bolt. Then he opened the door slightly—about an inch.
"You're taller than I am," he whispered. "Reach up and muffle the bell above the door while I open it."
Aubrey thrust three fingers through the aperture and blocked the trigger of the gong. Then Roger pushed the door wide, and they tiptoed in.
The shop was empty, and apparently normal. They stood for an instant with pounding pulses.
From the back of the house came a clear voice, a little tremulous:
"You can do what you like, I shan't tell you where it is. Mr. Mifflin said——"
There followed the bang of a falling chair, and a sound of rapid movement.
Aubrey was down the aisle in a flash, followed by Roger, who had delayed just long enough to close the door. He tiptoed up the steps at the back of the shop and looked into the dining room. At the instant his eyes took in the scene it seemed as though the whole room was in motion.
The cloth was spread for supper and shone white under the drop lamp. In the far corner of the room Titania was struggling in the grasp of a bearded man whom Aubrey instantly recognized as the chef. On the near side of the table, holding a revolver levelled at the girl, stood Weintraub. His back was toward the door. Aubrey could see the druggist's sullen jaw crease and shake with anger.
Two strides took him into the room. He jammed the muzzle of his pistol against the oily cheek. "Drop it!" he said hoarsely. "You Hun!" With his left hand he seized the man's shirt collar and drew it tight against the throat. In his tremor of rage and excitement his arms felt curiously weak, and his first thought was how impossible it would be to strangle that swinish neck.