“Oh, yes, I will,” said Chick, who now had decided how he best could end the situation and quietly accomplish his object. “I’m going to get it, all right—and get you.”
“Get me, eh?” The masked man laughed icily. “You have as good a chance of getting me as a hailstone would have on a red-hot stove.”
“That so?”
“I know so.”
“Why so confident?” Chick was edging nearer the man by imperceptible degrees. “You must have pals in the next room.”
“No, no pals,” sneered the other. “I don’t need any.”
“You’re game to play a lone hand, eh?”
“Bet you! I’m the gamest ever.”
“Nevertheless, I shall get you.”
“Not much! You have not a look in, not even the ghost of a chance. You have not——”