Despite her qualms, Dorothy could not help smiling. The bald man’s face became scarlet with fury.
“Another crack like that and I’ll give you a taste of something harder than rock salt,” her roared. “And when I get through with him that guy who was so free with his shotgun last night will wish he’d never been born!”
Bill ignored this outburst. “That gat was my only weapon,” he announced without rancor. “This house is in New York State, so if you want to burn in Sing Sing, shoot—I’m tired of holding up my arms.”
He lowered his hands and thrust them into his trousers pockets.
The bald man looked daggers but he did not pull the trigger. Instead he turned on his partner.
“Why don’t you do something, Chick?” he growled. “You know I’m laid up—oughta be in bed right now, for that matter.”
“Say, Eddie,” complained the burly fellow, “I’m stiff as a board myself—I got peppered all down my back and you know it.”
“Aw, quit yer grousin’. You can still move around. Tie ’em up and we’ll dump ’em somewhere till the boss gets back.”
“Yeah? An’ what do we use fer rope?”
Eddie scratched his head with the butt of his revolver and hobbled over to an armchair. “Stick that gat in yer pocket, Chick,” he ordered as he lowered himself carefully into the deep cushions. “I’ve got ’em covered. Beat it into the kitchen—that fat dinge in there’s got plenty of clothesline. Help yerself and tell her I’ll come in an’ bump her off, if she gets nasty!”