“Keep them there, now.”
“But you might answer my question, at least, and explain this sudden change of attitude on your part.”
“You’ll know soon enough,” was the reply, followed by a short, sharp whistle.
Ginger did not respond to it. He had disappeared around a corner of the house.
Instead, the back door was quickly opened and two roughly clad men appeared on the threshold, both still under thirty. One of them instantly darted back through the hall, and Nick heard him shout to another in one of the adjoining rooms.
Henley, meantime, growled harshly, with his evil eyes constantly on the detective:
“Come out here, Foster, and get behind the dick. Feel under his coat and get his guns. Kneel down while doing it, so I’ll not hit you. I’ll plug him, all right, if he moves a finger.”
“There will be no occasion, Henley, you rat,” Nick now said sternly. “I value a whole skin too highly to take any chance against that blunderbuss in such hands as yours. I see, now, that you have served me a scurvy trick. Go as far as you like.”
“You don’t need to tell me that,” snapped Henley. “I’m on the way. Got ’em, Bill?”
“Both of ’em, Jim,” returned Foster, who had hurriedly disarmed the detective and was threatening him with his two weapons. “Who is he?”