“Who’s there?”
“It’s I, Gus,” said the marshal, stepping back and looking up. “Come down, quick as you can, and open the door.”
Mr. Bolton knew the officer, and lost no time in admitting him.
“What is up?” he asked, when they were all inside.
The officer explained:
“They’ll be here soon,” he concluded. “We must be ready for ’em.”
Hasty preparations were made. Believing that the thieves were acquainted with Mr. Bolton’s house, the officer concluded they would force an entrance into the room where the treasurer kept his safe, and to this apartment they all repaired.
A large, high-backed sofa was drawn up under the gas jet, the gas was lighted and turned down low, and the three watchers crouched down behind the safe.
“We’ll wait till they get in the room,” said the officer; “then I’ll give you a nudge, Paul, and you must turn on the gas in full. Bolton and I will cover ’em with our revolvers, and if they don’t surrender, we’ll let ’em have it.”
Paul was much excited. But he tried to remember what the marshal had told him, and held himself in readiness to turn on the gas when the signal was given.