“No, it’s the truth. Raymond thinks you have money with you.”
“So I have. I’ve been collecting for the firm, and that roll under my pillow has eighteen hundred dollars in it.”
“They would do a good deal for it. You had better—hist—here they come now.”
Bob caught Frank by the arm, and both grew silent.
Soft footsteps came up to the door, and then something scraped in the lock.
“I can’t open it,” came at length, in the voice of Raymond. “I know a better way.”
“What is it?”
“We can jump out on the roof of the extension and crawl through the window. Come on.”
The footsteps moved away. Frank walked to the bed and brought forth his pistol which was lying beside the roll of money.
“If they come in here, I’ll give them a warm reception,” he said, significantly.