Cray, he found, had Simpson by the throat, and was effectually preventing any outcry, while his great bulk kept the prisoner from squirming out from under him.
“Now, give it to him!” Jack muttered, breathing heavily. “He can’t let out a peep.”
Green Eye forced the wretch’s jaws apart, and, inserting the handkerchief, tied it tightly in place; whereupon, Cray rolled Simpson over and handcuffed his wrists together behind his back.
The capture had been completed in record time, with no battle to speak of, and without a sound that could have been heard in the front of the house. Neither of the victors was inclined to congratulate himself very much on that achievement, for whatever might be said of John Simpson’s cleverness in gaining possession of that snug little fortune in gold, the treasurer was far from a desperate character to deal with.
“Now, keep still!” commanded Cray. “If you don’t, you’ll wish you had, I can promise you!”
The warning seemed entirely superfluous, but Jack Cray knew that gagged men have sometimes managed to make sounds in their throats which have been loud enough to bring assistance.
With Gordon’s help, the captive was jerked through the doorway and into the garage. One man had already been disposed of, and Gordon was now secretly turning his attention to Cray, but the latter did not dream of that.
Jack’s interest at the moment was confined to the helpless man whose face he desired to see to better advantage. Accordingly he drew out his flash light and turned it upon Simpson’s features.
The treasurer’s face was very pale—ghastly, in fact—and his lips were working convulsively on the gag, while his eyes were those of a cornered animal.