“Get out of the road, Birdie, and let me at it! I’ll bust it in!”
And then Billy Kane spoke.
“Is that you, Red?” he demanded harshly.
There was a surprised gasp from the hall without, a second’s tense silence, and then Red Vallon’s voice again, heavy with perplexity and amazement:
“Who in hell are you?”
Billy Kane unlocked the door, flung it open, and stepped back. The hall had been lighted now, evidently to facilitate Red Vallon’s search, and the light fell full upon Billy Kane through the doorway.
“The Rat!” The gangster’s little red-rimmed eyes blinked helplessly—then suddenly narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
“You fool!” snarled Billy Kane angrily. “I thought I recognized your voice! You gave me a scare! What are you doing here? What’s all this cursed noise about?”
“What’s it about?” repeated Red Vallon mechanically. He spoke automatically, as though through force of habit at the Rat’s command. “The Mole lives upstairs. He got those diamonds from Vetter; then Birdie and me took ’em from him, and not five minutes ago that blasted man in the mask turned the trick on us, and”—his voice changed with a jerk, and became suddenly truculent—“it’s damned funny where he got to!”
“Come in here, both of you!” ordered Billy Kane peremptorily. “Come in here, and shut that door! Now”—as they obeyed him—“that’s the story, is it, Red? Well, listen to mine!” His voice grew raucous, menacing, unpleasant. “This is the second time to-night you’ve run foul of my plans with your infernal diamonds and your piker hunts, and if trouble comes from this, look out for yourself! Five minutes ago, you said. Well, I wish he’d beaned you while he was at it! You’ve put an hour’s work of mine to the bad! How long do you think this disturbance is going on, before the police butt in? Take a look in that room, there!”