“The same!” thundered his chief, in a husky bass entirely unlike his own voice. “Hurry!”
He had been obliged to speak at last, but he did not think his tones had revealed who he was.
There was no time for consideration. The disturbance in the room—particularly the falling to the floor of the two servants under the impact of Chick’s hard and skillfully used fists—had awakened the two rascals who had been carousing in the dining room, and they were coming to see what the fuss was about.
Louden Powers and Andrew Lampton were both seasoned drinkers. When they staggered out of the dining room and into the elevator, both were well steeped in wine. Many men in such a condition would have slept through any disturbance.
But these were not of that kind. Powers awoke first, and, getting into some of his clothing, went to the next room to get Lampton out. Then the two went along the hall to see what was going on in Howard Milmarsh’s bedroom.
It would not have mattered so much to Carter about these men coming if they had been in the dark. But each one had lighted a candle—placed in their room so that they could have a light for cigars—and these candles gave light enough for them to see where they were going.
As soon as Nick knew that others were coming to the room, and that they bore lights with them, he felt that he must act quickly to escape recognition.
“Now we’ll have you, and find out what the game is!” chuckled the supposed Howard Milmarsh, as he pushed Nick a little backward. “I’ll tell you a ghost story of my own before I’m through.”
This boasting assertion was the last he had the opportunity of making. Stooping and catching the young man around the waist, the stalwart detective lifted him from the floor and hurled him clear across the bed to the floor beyond.
As he fell, his head struck the wall, and he doubled up, unconscious.