Four of the ruffians had raised him again and were taking him up a flight of steps leading to the loft of the building. There they dropped him on the floor and removed the burlap with which he was half smothered.
Nick sat up and turned his shoulders to the near wall. Gazing around, he saw a large, unfinished room, partly filled with unopened barrels of lime. Cobwebs hung in[Pg 37] festoons from the roof and beams. The only light came through two windows overlooking the river, the swash and swirl of which could be plainly heard.
Gaston Goulard came up the stairs at that moment and at once flashed a sharp glance around the dismal place. He then strode quickly across to one of the windows and looked out.
Nick and Ben Badger, also, guessed what the rascal had in mind, and the latter said, with a grim laugh:
“That would be out of the frying pan into the fire, Goulard. Better take chances with the police, than with the East River.”
“I’m not looking to take either chance,” Goulard replied, with a frown settling on his white face.
“There’s no danger here,” Badger said confidently. “This place is not suspected.”
“Are the doors below securely locked?”
“The front one is locked and barred,” said Dakin. “No guns know anything about the other, or the way of getting to it. You’re safe enough here.”
“Let Quicklime Jimmy alone to know what he’s talking about,” declared Badger, with another laugh. “Take that gag from the dick’s mouth, Glidden,” he added. “I want to talk with him.”