Uncle Abe dropped the logs into the woodbox, and Dorothy knelt on the hearth and piled her kindling beside it. In rising to her feet her head brushed Uncle Abe’s arm, knocking off the soft felt hat Bill had loaned her. Quick as a flash she retrieved it and thrust it back on her head.
“A boy with a girl’s bob!”
Dorothy turned sharply and found herself staring into the muzzle of an automatic.
“Stand right where you are,” barked the big man, as he got up out of his chair. “And you too, dinge—” The revolver swerved for a second in Abe’s direction. “Ol’ Man River and the girl, of course—we expected you to show up. The laugh’s on you, all right. Where’s your boy friend?”
“Right here!” Bill Bolton stepped from behind the heavy window draperies, his revolver trained on the gangster’s stomach. “Drop that gun—drop it, or I’ll drill you!” Then as the automatic crashed to the floor, a smile spread over his tanned face. “And this time the laugh is on you, my friend,” he added softly.
“Oh, yeah?” came a rasping voice from the hall doorway. “You drop your rod, bo’—and stick ’em up! Don’t move—you’re covered. Now laugh that one off—ha-ha!”
Bill’s gun fell to the floor and his hands rose slowly upwards. In the doorway stood the bald man—the other member that Dorothy had spied on in the library of the Conway house.
Chapter XVI
THE BOOK
The newcomer limped a couple of paces into the room. His left arm and one leg were swathed in bandages.
“What price rock salt?” remarked Bill pleasantly, still reaching toward the ceiling.