"Take it, boy, it's yours. I'm—going—out—a fortune in——"
His words trailed into nothingness and he dropped back, ceasing to breathe. Startled, and a little bit frightened, Phil ran and put a hand to his heart. There was no vibrating response.
Stuffing the paper into his jacket pocket, he ran to the door and gave two low but distinct whistles. Hardly had he given the signal when there was an unearthly crash and a muttered expression of disgust.
Phil made for the stairs, and was about to descend when he was joined by Dick, who whispered sibilantly:
"Dig out of here; this is no place for us," and seizing Phil by the arm, started down the stairway. At the bottom they found Garry extricating himself from a heap of splintered wood and debris.
"All out in a hurry," commanded Dick.
Garry and Phil both sensed that there was danger in the air, or, at the very least, a need for extra care, and followed the lead of Dick in making a quick exit from the house.
They hustled down the sidewalk, and noticing an open hallway, unlighted, Dick led the way in there.
"Not a whisper, now," he cautioned.
Hardly had they found shelter in the doorway when three men came tumbling out of the deserted lodging house they had just left, and ran past the hallway where the boys were crouching, finally to disappear around a corner farther up the street.