“But when we get him in the street?” whispered the other.
“Well—what? He’s drunk. We’ll get him in a cab. No one will interfere. Leave it to me, and back me up. Quick! shut that door; and then turn on the light.”
The orders were obeyed; and as soon as they stood in the darkness the lobby-door was opened, where the red light gave them sufficient illumination to finish their proceedings.
Another minute, and, their victim’s arm well gripped on either side, the elder man said hoarsely, “Ready?”
“Yes; but are you sure that he had the stuff on him?”
“Trust me for that. Now, be cool, and the diamonds are ours. Off!”
The outer door was opened, and with very little difficulty Mark Heath was half-lifted, half-led outside, in an inert, helpless condition, his brain steeped in sleep, and his mind a blank. Then the two men stood in the snow, listening for a sound within the house.
It was the elder who spoke then:
“Get your arm well under him. Hold hard! Shut the door. Mind he don’t slip down. It’s dark as pitch. Now, then, come on.”
At that moment John Whyley turned on his lamp.