“Sure,” responded Cheadle.
The door slammed after Henderson. The next instant Bowen heard the footsteps of Cheadle crossing the floor—toward him.
Catlike, the man from Tonopah came to his feet, looked swiftly around for a weapon. He could not trust his fists—yet! There was too much at stake. He must call Gus Saunders before two o’clock!
As the dumpy figure of Cheadle parted the curtains, Bowen caught up a small footstool—the first object to hand—and hurled it. The hassock took Cheadle in the side of the head and knocked him sprawling. Before he could recover, Bowen was upon him; and, without any mercy, struck two blows that knocked out the fat little mining man.
Moving rapidly, Bowen caught up the cords that had bound him, tied Cheadle hand and foot, and rolled the inert body under the bed. Barely had he finished and come erect, when Henderson returned to the adjoining room.
“Nothing doing yet, eh?” he sang out. The telephone rang, and saved Bowen from making any response. Henderson took the message and repeated his former commands.
“Well, didn’t I tell you the stock was kiting up? Now you wait for my order to sell, and keep your ear close to the phone! I want no monkey business at the last moment.”
Henderson banged up the receiver. “She’s up to ninety, Cheadle!” he called exultantly. “What ’d I tell you, eh? It’s just ten minutes of two now. In five minutes I’ll give Charley orders to sell—”
“I’ll bet you two to one you don’t,” said Bowen, stepping into the room.
He had thought to take Henderson by surprise; to down the thunderstruck man without a struggle. But he had far underestimated Dickover’s former agent. Henderson had spread upon a small table which bore the telephone, the dishes borne in by Cheadle. Without a second’s hesitation, Henderson picked up a heavy restaurant coffee-cup and hurled it fair and square at the face of his opponent.