“Did you hear what I said?” he snapped, prodding the man with his revolver. “We want that stuff you stole, and we want it right now. You’d better talk!”
Much to the surprise of all, the man no longer denied his guilt. Instead, he motioned them to follow him up to the house. Whether he had been frightened by the officer’s terse command, or intended to resort to some means of escape, they did not know.
He produced a large bunch of keys and opened the heavy door, at the same time beckoning for his unwelcome visitors to follow.
“I’ll take those keys!” The policeman held out a hand.
The accused man hesitated a moment, then handed them over.
“What you want is in the basement,” he said, as he led the way through the large room. “I will get it for you, never fear.”
When almost at the rear of the house, he stopped and opened a narrow door. Then, switching on a light, he went down a steep flight of stairs, the others at his heels.
They were in the basement, threading their way between rows of boxes, when something unexpected happened. The light suddenly went off, leaving them in total darkness. The eyes of the pursuers, unaccustomed to the blackness, could make out nothing around them. It had happened so quickly that there was a short period of fumbling about.
Bob Holton felt a form brush past him rapidly, as if in wild haste.
The youth’s fist shot out and caught the form squarely with such force that he fell at once with a groan.