“That’s what he is, Amos,” supplemented Vic Clayton, white with increased apprehensions. “He must be one of the Boston force.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Not one of the force?”
“Nothing of the kind.”
“If you are lying, youngster, the lie will as surely cost you your life——”
What more Badger would have uttered can only be conjectured, for, while he was speaking, fiercely shaking his fist at Patsy’s helpless head, there sounded from the gravel driveway outside and over the hollow planking of the veranda the heavy fall of hurrying feet.
“Who’s this?” cried Claudia, starting affrightedly from her chair.
“The door, Conley!” hissed Badger. “Have the gun ready!”
Before Conley could reach the doorway, however, toward which he hastened with Patsy’s revolver in his hand, it was hurriedly opened and a sallow-featured, green-eyed rascal bounded breathlessly into the kitchen.