Every window was closed and protected by sun blinds. The outer door, which usually stood open, was also closed. There were no signs of life to be seen.
Yet Bonesy Billings was convinced that there were eyes behind those sun blinds which had taken careful note of their approach. He knocked at the door with his knuckles at the same time that his lieutenant, Kid Plang, rang the electric bell again and again.
For several minutes there was no response. Then suddenly a voice hailed them from above, and they saw that Andrew Lampton was at an open window at the third-story.
“What do you want, gentlemen?” he asked suavely.
“Ah, can that ‘gentlemen’ stuff!” shouted the lieutenant. “We want to come in for a conference.”
“What about?”
“You know what about well enough,” roared Bonesy Billings. “Where’s Howard Milmarsh?”
“He’s here. But he is not saying anything. I’ll do the talking—if there is to be any.”
“Well, you can bet there’s going to be talking! We want our money back that’s been paid for those plots in Paradise City.”
“You do? Why?”