[CHAPTER XVII.]
SLAP BANG AND AWAY AGAIN.
When Barry Brown saw that form before him with upraised sword in hand, he felt very much like selling out rather cheaply, although merely from force of defensive habit he pointed his pistol at the foe.
And then a laugh came to his ears, a low, chilling, sneering laugh, and from the brilliant glow proceeding from the inner room stepped the captain of the counterfeiters, Jerry Prime.
He was speaking to somebody behind him, or rather laughing scornfully at the party, and Barry Brown understood at once that he had not been seen by the leader of the outlaws.
But the man with the sword standing almost over him, the weapon gleaming in the brilliant light? Barry stole a glance of amused interest at the figure now, and then lowered his revolver.
“The devil!” quoth he, “that’s a thundering neat sell.”
He had been frightened by a well-made dummy, fixed up against the inside panel of the door, being made to hold that awful threatening sword in a most awe-inspiring manner.
Barry Brown sank back into the shadow just as Jerry Prime gave a final sneering laugh, and closed the door, striding past the detective in the darkness.
“By Jove, I thought the house was coming down,” gasped Brown; “that was a big whack a moment ago. Ha, they’re fighting above there, and I can’t take a hand in.”