“An all night job for me!” sighed O’Brien, then remembered with a gleam of hope the powder he had added to the contents of the bottle. Changing his position, he stretched himself along a rafter, nearly losing his balance as he did so. But he managed to save himself from bursting through the plaster, although he heard it crack beneath the foot that had pressed on it for a moment.
“Who left the gas on?” said someone with an oath.
O’Brien recognized the gruff voice of Brown.
“Search me!” someone else answered, and another hastened to clear himself of the charge.
“It must have been John,” said Brown. “Where is he? I thought he was right on our heels. He is no good at all. Wish someone would croak him!” He slammed the door, and came over to the table under the trap. A moment later one of the other men came into O’Brien’s narrow range of vision, carrying the bottle and glass. He set it on the table, and looked at Brown.
“Leave it there for awhile. There is none too much in it. If Smith comes he will want most of it.”
O’Brien’s heart leaped. So they were expecting Smith! This was almost too good to be true. He grinned. He prayed that Smith would want most of it. The fourth man came, but no one thought to ask him about the gas. Chairs creaked and the cheap cots groaned and squeaked as the men flung themselves down to rest. At the table, Brown, who was the only one within O’Brien’s line of vision, took out a pencil and commenced to jot down something on a piece of paper. No one said anything. O’Brien sensed discord in the air, and a tense nervousness. It was clear from the very atmosphere that the four cutthroats hated each other cordially.
Almost an hour passed. Someone snored. Then a gentle tap sounded on the door, the sleeper awoke with a snort, someone opened the door, and there was a low murmur of greetings.
The mysterious Mr. Smith came over to the table and took Brown’s chair. As he looked down O’Brien nearly groaned. A broad brimmed fedora was drawn down over the man’s face, and O’Brien was unable to see a feature of the arch-plotter. But at least he could hear him talk.
It was evident that Smith was in a bad humor.