“Yes,” broke in the young man violently. “I’m going to give the whole game away. I don’t care what you say. I’m not going to take the chance of five years in the pen just to——”
“Oh, shut up!” broke in Louden in his usual masterful way. “You have to do what you’re told. You are the heir to the Milmarsh fortune. We’ve proved that for you. Now you talk about backing out, just because you have not nerve to hold on to what is your own. You make me sick!”
“Here! Quit fighting over that!” broke in Andrew Lampton, running into the room from the landing, where he had been listening to the noise outside. “Those fellows have broken down the outer door, and they are coming in. They won’t have much trouble forcing the inner door, for that’s half glass.”
There was a crash of glass below, which told that the mob had made its way into the house.
“Where is he?” roared the voice of Bonesy Billings. “Bring him down! We want him!”
Already they could hear the rumbling of many feet upon the lower floor, when a clear, ringing voice rose far above the din.
“Stop!”
It was the voice of Nick Carter.
It seemed as if his voice had some power far above that wielded by the order of authority. The men on the third-story heard the mob actually falling back and stumbling down the stairs.