Pete locked the door and went back to his chair in front of the window. He watched the man in the restaurant, who had risen and waved his hand, evidently acknowledging a signal from some one. It was the man Pete had seen near the express office—there was no doubt about that. Pete noticed that he was broad of shoulder, stocky, and wore a heavy gold watch-chain. He disappeared within the doorway below. Presently Pete heard some one coming up the uncarpeted stairway—some one who walked with the tread of a heavy person endeavoring to go silently. A brief interval in which Pete could hear his own heart thumping, and some one else ascended the stairway. The boards in the hallway creaked. Some one rapped on the door.
"I guess this is the finish," said Pete to himself. Had he been apprehended in the open, in a crowd on the street, he would not have made a fight. He had told himself that. But to be run to earth this way—trapped in a mean and squalid room, away from the sunlight and no slightest chance to get away… He surmised that these men knew that the men that they hunted would not hesitate to kill. Evidently they did not know that Brevoort was gone. How could he hold them that Brevoort might have more time? He hesitated. Should he speak, or keep silent?
He thought it better to answer the summons. "What do you want?" he called.
"We want to talk to your partner," said a voice.
"He's sleepin'," called Pete. "He was out 'most all night."
"Well, we'll talk with you then."
"Go ahead. I'm listenin'."
"Suppose you open the door."
"And jest suppose I don't? My pardner ain't like to be friendly if he's woke up sudden."
Pete could hear the murmuring of voices as if in consultation. Then, "All right. We'll come back later."