A startled gasp came from Bob’s lips as he found himself staring into the muzzle of an automatic.
The gun was held by a man who wore a dark overcoat and a black cap. The stranger’s face was partly obscured by the collar of his coat. The peak of his cap hid his eyes.
“No noise!” warned a low, growling voice. “Put up your hands!”
Bob obeyed, wondering. He remembered the burglary that Hodgson had mentioned.
But this was a more daring entry — and its futility was perplexing. There was nothing of value here. Neither did Bob have any great amount of money on his person.
He arose at a command from the man who held the pistol. The stranger’s left hand tapped Bob’s pockets in search of a weapon, but none was there.
“Put on your hat and coat,” the man ordered, motioning toward the corner. Bob followed instructions.
The stranger was beside Bob now.
“You’re coming with me,” he said in a low voice. “No funny business. Understand? Don’t try to tip off that old guy that works for you. Tell him you’re going out. Get me?”
Bob nodded. Then he was being urged forward. They entered the hallway. Bob could feel the pressure of the automatic pressed against his side.