“Must we ring, or knock?” he asked, as he approached the door with the reeling woman.
“Neizer,” she muttered, with maudlin thickness. “I’ve gotta key.”
“Let’s have it,” Chick said quietly. “You couldn’t find the keyhole.”
“I’ll be dead lucky if I find the key,” said Nell, feeling for a pocket in her skirt.
She presently found it and produced the key, nevertheless, placing it in the detective’s hand.
Chick tried to insert it noiselessly into the lock, and stopped—for the hundredth part of a second.
There came from within, sending a thrill through him from head to foot—the sudden, sharp, spiteful crack of a revolver.
Patsy also heard it, and three quick leaps brought him to Chick’s side.
Both swept the woman aside, throwing her to the ground, and Chick unlocked the door and threw it open.
Their gaze fell upon a lighted corridor, a low flight[{40}] of stairs leading down to it, and upon Margate, Lombard, and Baldwin, now shooting wildly at a man crouching near what appeared to be a narrow door.