It told him on the instant that help was at hand. Bent upon covering the approach of whomever it might be, though he suspected the truth, Nick went on with augmented vehemence, his sonorous voice fairly drowning all other sounds:
“No, no, Badger, I never would consent to that. I am a servant of the law, a protector of society. My duty to both, my own integrity, the dictates of my conscience, every spark of manhood in my nature, all would forbid——”
“Oh, hang your conscience!” roared Badger, interrupting. “You’ll get all that’s coming to you, then! You’ll get——”
He broke off as if suddenly tongue-tied.
He saw the heads and helmets of a crowd of men rushing up the stairs, men with revolvers in their hands and stern determination in their eyes, a great posse of police led by Chick Carter and Patsy Garvan.
Before he could find his voice, that of Chick Carter rang through the dismal loft:
“Hands up! We’ve got you, boys! Don’t show fight if you want to live! There’ll be nothing to it!”
“Nothing but the shouting!” yelled Patsy, as the detectives and the police bounded up and into the loft.
Their increasing numbers and display of weapons awed every crook save one—Gaston Goulard.
He vented a snarl like that of a cornered wolf. Turning like a flash, he darted to the window at which he[Pg 39] had repeatedly glanced. He did not stop upon reaching it.