Goyle laughed. He was the virtual landlord so far as the hiring of the house was concerned. He closed the cupboard door.
“Not counting old George, it’s empty,” he said. “Listen!”
In the deep silence there came the faint murmur of a voice through the thin walls.
“Talkin’ to himself,” said Goyle with a grin; “he’s daft, and he’s as good as a watchman for us, for he scares away the children and women who would come prying about here. He’s——”
They heard the front door shut quickly and the voices of two men in the passage below.
Goyle sprang to his feet, an evil look on his face.
“That’s Jimmy!” he whispered hurriedly.
As the feet sounded on the stairs he walked to where his coat hung and took something from his pocket, then, almost as the newcomers entered the room, he slipped into the cupboard and drew the door close after him.
Jimmy, entering the room in Connor’s wake, felt the chill of his reception. He felt, too, some indefinable sensation of danger. There was an ominous quiet. Bat Sands was polite, even servile. Jimmy noticed that, and his every sense became alert. Bat thrust forward a chair and placed it with its back toward the cupboard.
“Sit down, Jimmy,” he said with forced heartiness. “We want a bit of a talk.”