“The man in the mask!” he mumbled.
“I was a little late for the tombola myself at Vetter’s to-night,” said Billy Kane coolly. “I understand you were all there. I only got as far as the back yard when the gathering broke up, and I was a little disappointed because I had a hunch that I held the winning number. However, if you, there, with the pocketbook, whatever your name is, will just toss the prize over here, I’m willing to overlook any slight irregularity there might have been in the drawing.”
Red Vallon did not answer.
The muzzle of Billy Kane’s automatic lifted to a level with the gangster’s eyes.
“Did you hear me?” The facetiousness was gone from Billy Kane now. His voice rasped suddenly. “Toss it over!”
With an oath, Red Vallon flung the pocketbook over the table.
Billy Kane caught it deftly with his left hand.
“Thank you!” said Billy Kane politely. He tucked the chamois case into his pocket, and reached out for the doorknob. “I think that is all—gentlemen,” he said softly; “except to wish you—good-night!”
In a flash he had shut the door upon them, and, turning, was running across the outer room. But Red Vallon, too, was quick. Before Billy Kane reached the door leading into the hall, he heard the window of the front room flung up—and Red Vallon’s voice:
“Quick, boys, come in! The man in the mask! Head him off! Jump for it! He’s going downstairs!”