Jimmy slipped the weapon from his pocket, and handed it butt foremost to the man. Then Massey bent over the fallen man and searched his pockets.
“Here are the keys. You stay here,” said Massey, and went out, closing the door after him.
Jimmy heard the grate of the key, and knew he was a prisoner. He bent over the old man. He lay motionless. Jimmy tried the pulse, and felt a faint flutter. Through the clenched teeth he forced a little whisky, and after a minute the old man’s eyes opened.
“Jimmy!” he whispered; then remembering, “Where’s Massey?” he asked.
There was no need to inquire the whereabouts of Massey. His blundering footfalls sounded in the room above.
“Lookin’ for money?” gasped the old man, and something like a smile crossed his face. “Safe’s up there,” he whispered, and smiled again. “Got the keys?”
Jimmy nodded.
The old man’s eyes wandered round the room till they rested on what looked like a switchboard.
“See that handle marked ‘seven’?” he whispered.
Jimmy nodded again.