The waiting was not long, as it developed. Juney Saltz spoke up within, his voice a blubber: "Hey! I—I'm s-smothering—"
"But I'm not," drawled the same high voice that was becoming familiar. "Sit back, Juney, and put your head between your knees. You'll stand it better that way."
"I'm—done for!" wailed Juney Saltz. "If they crack in, I—I can't s-see to shoot!"
"I can see to shoot." The shrill voice had become deadly. "And you'll be the first thing I shoot at if you don't do what I tell you."
A strangled howl burst from Juney Saltz. "I'd rather be shot than—" And next moment he was scrabbling at the door. "I surrender! I'll let you bulls in!"
He had turned the key in the lock just as the shot that killed him rang out. A rush of police foiled an attempt from within to fasten the door again. Sneezing and gurgling, two of the raiders burst into the final stronghold, stumbling over the subsiding lump of flesh that had been Juney Saltz.
Blinded by tears from their own gas, they could not be sure afterward of what the scurrying little thing was that they saw and fired at. Those outside knew that nothing could have won past them, and the den itself had no window that was not bricked up. When the gas had been somewhat blown out, an investigator gave the place a thorough searching. Yes, there was one opening, a stovepipe hole through which a cat might have slipped. That was all. And the place was empty but for the body of Juney Saltz.
"Juney was shot in the back," announced another operative, bending to examine the wound. "I think I see what happened. Squeaky-Voice was at that stovepipe hole, and plugged him from there as he tried to let us in. Then Juney tried to lock up again, just as we pushed the door open."
Upstairs they went, and investigated further. The hole had joined a narrow chimney, with no way out except the upper end, a rectangle eight inches by ten. Even with six corpses to show, the agents returned to their headquarters with a feeling of failure. "In the morning," they promised one another, "we'll give that one Salter we're holding another little question bee."
But in the morning, the jailer with breakfast found that prisoner dead.