The Federal agent shrugged his shoulders.
“You’ll talk later on,” he said. “For your information, I’m not alone on this job. My pals are getting in upstairs. We’re going to grab everybody in the place.”
The prisoner remained silent. There were footsteps on the stairs.
“Here they are now,” added the secret-service man.
He turned his head to stare into the barrel of a revolver carried by Doc Birch. The pawnbroker’s face was distorted with anger.
“Drop that gun!” he snarled. “I’ll shoot you clear out of the place!”
The Federal agent’s automatic clattered on the cellar floor. Doc Birch studied him with keen eyes; then his gaze shifted to the rough gangster standing by the coal pile.
“This fellow isn’t with you,” observed Birch. “That’s sure enough. Well, I’ll find out the whole lay before I’m through with you. Government man, eh? Looking for some sort of evidence?”
The pawnbroker went to the box which held the counterfeit bills. Using his left hand he pulled the bundles out one by one and tossed them into the furnace near by.
“Always keep a fire going during warm weather,” he said. “It’s a good place to burn rubbish.”