Vroon faced Hargreave's butler somberly. The one reason why Braine made this man his lieutenant was because Vroon always followed the letter of his instructions to the final period; he never sidestepped or added any frills or innovations of his own, and because of this very automatism he rarely blundered into a trap. If he failed it was for the simple fact that the master mind had overlooked some essential detail. The organization of the Black Hundred was almost totally unknown to either the public or the police. It is only when you fail that you are found out.
"The patrolman has been trussed up like you," began Vroon. "If they find him they will probably find you. But before that you will grow thirsty and hungry. Where did your master put that money?"
"He carried it with him."
"Why didn't you call for help?"
"The houses on either side are too far away. I might yell till doomsday without being heard. They will have heard the pistol shots; but Mr. Hargreave was always practising in the back yard."
"The people in those two houses have been called out of town. The servants are off for the night."
"Very interesting," replied Jones, staring at the rug.
"Your master is dead."
Jones' chin sank upon his breast. His heart was heavy, heavier than it had ever been before.
"Your master left a will?"