“The gate opens on the inside, sir, wif a spring latch.”
“Sam,” I continued, “you open that gate, let me out the back way, and then call out that gentleman, and tell him quietly that some one is on the back stoop who wants to see him. If he comes out, you’ll find a ten dollar bill on the stoop just as soon as we’re gone. Be sure you lock the door after he passes through.”
When I told Old King Brady about that scheme, he laughed, and said it was a crazy one, and might have got me into a heap of trouble.
Very good. I’m willing he should think so. It succeeded all the same.
Sam opened the gate, let me out on the stoop, and there I waited, ten dollar bill in hand.
It was only for a few moments I had to wait, but I just want you to understand that I got nervous. I was all in a shake when the door suddenly opened, and Mr. J. Dudley Opdyke, without a hat, stepped out.
“You!” he exclaimed. “What the devil do you want with me, sir, that you couldn’t say inside?”
Bang went the door behind him, and the key was heard to turn in the lock.
I think he suspected the moment the door closed, but I didn’t give him the chance to do anything—not even to say a word.
“I want you!” I hissed, covering him with my revolver, and clutching his arm with what Old King Brady calls my iron grip.