“No,” said Froman firmly. “This is a room which can be entered by any one who knows of its existence, but only one can make his way out. I am the one. Once that door is closed, there is no escape.
“You see that knob upon the inner door? I prepared it with a purpose. To-day, I fixed that knob so that any one who turns it will not turn the catch that operates the door. Instead, he will set off a bomb that will blow this place to atoms.
“Kill us if you wish. Then attempt to leave. I am warning you. It will mean death for you as well as us.”
In spite of himself, Motkin trembled. The upper hand was changing swiftly tonight. Froman and Noyes had come here in triumph. Motkin had outguessed them. Now, he, in turn, was tricked!
To Motkin’s mind there could be only one hope — that Froman was lying. The baffled Red was anxious to make sure of the truth. He approached Froman, leveling his revolver directly between the other man’s eyes. Froman smiled.
Motkin’s momentary elation faded.
“You are dealing with a man of iron,” declared Froman proudly. “I call myself F. O. Froman. That name is formed by the letters in the name Romanoff. I am of the Russian nobility! I have no use for such as you!”
Motkin’s snarl was one of hatred. Still, he was afraid to kill this man.
“I know your kind,” continued Froman. “You are afraid of death. I am not! If I die, you die. I am satisfied!”
The words were uttered with impressive calmness. Motkin’s trepidation increased. He drew slowly away, still keeping his revolver leveled. Then came a sound that startled him.