“Yes, yes, Wraile, that’s all very clever but you’re not facing facts. They’ve dropped young Fratten, they . . .”
“They haven’t; he’s shadowed wherever he goes.”
“Only by an underling, to keep an eye on him. They don’t suspect him any longer. There’s no use in hanging on now—we can never make the market now—too much’ll be known.”
“Don’t you believe it; unless they prove anything criminal against us they’ll never put their feet into business—it’s not their job. I’m going to hang on as . . .”
Wraile stopped abruptly, his head cocked on one side as he looked at the window nearest to him. The blind was down and nothing was to be seen—nor, as the pause lengthened, could anything be heard save the steady tick of the clock on the mantelpiece. After their first glance of surprise, following his to the window, Wraile’s two companions turned their eyes back to his face; evidently they had seen and heard nothing and were looking to him for an explanation. Wraile rose quietly to his feet.
“Someone on the fire-escape,” he whispered, and began tiptoeing towards the window, signing to his wife to do the same. Slowly he drew an automatic pistol from his hip-pocket and waited, his ears straining for a sound. His wife, on the other side of the window, quietly watched him, knowing that her instructions would come; Lessingham remained seated, a look of strained expectancy on his face.
Suddenly, at a touch from Mrs. Wraile, the blind flew up; almost simultaneously Wraile flung up the window and, thrusting the pistol in front of him, called out: “Put up your hands, you!”
Lessingham shrank back in his chair, his hands clutching at the arms. He could see nothing beyond the figures of Wraile and his wife; unknown danger lurked beyond. Again the sharp command of the ex-soldier broke the short silence.
“Now come in—don’t drop your hands for a second.”
He drew back slightly and Lessingham could see a man’s leg flung over the window-sill, followed presently by a crouching body and two outstretched arms. As the man straightened himself up and, his hands still above his head, turned to face his captors, Lessingham gave a gasp of surprise and, half-rising from his chair, stared blankly at the intruder. It was Ryland Fratten.